Fluorescent Tidal Waves
Seconds:
Instances when the sun stops shining and the world holds its head hung low just for you. Because time takes its time to make its way back to this second. And the tremble of my hands matches the steady beat of my heart as we stand here in the dirt. And the wings of a dove swim through the clouds, break the sound barrier now because you won’t be able to do it again. My muscles tighten as my arms force gravity out of the way to the skin on your face. These fingertips held a feud with my blood and they tried to drain it out, but that moment doesn’t even matter now. The light in the corner blinks like time is irrelevant. But the milliseconds in between the light and the darkness of the flickering tube light last years. And I stand here, wading in seconds, pushing harder and harder to hold my hand to your cheek.
Minutes:
Between the alter and the carpet and the sun shining through the stained glass windows of a church dressed entirely in red. There is a priest walking his words down the aisle in to my ears. And the letters saunter past the pews like individual little children making their way to us. The congregation is silent in a hall built for god. And the way my hands hold yours makes arms feel like a bridge where our hearts will meet for a minute. So the cross behind the father looks down at our crossroads and I wonder what we look like to him. I wonder if he’s waiting in the minutes just like us. But I’m not looking up at him. I’m fixated on you. Because I don’t want to miss your lips when they tell me “I do.”
Hours:
In a room made of wood. Where the bed in the corner lay still. And in between a bed sheet were two naked selves. Whispering the night in to submission. So the loss of color under heated bed covers was a temporary transition in to bliss. Under the hover a dull moon lit window, we lost all the secrecy between us. These bodies couldn’t sit still for a minute. Restless legs and fingers running down the length of a thigh. The stars beamed through the window and gave light to our strife in the night. Where the hours were missing and where the river ends, is where the tidal waves rage to a swell. But the light in the corner still flickers and hums, as we embrace all the rest of ourselves.
Ayris Magazine 