you were nearly 40 minutes late for curfew today. my fault, of course. you left so recently my lips still pull and throb as though you are attached. and i am cold. didn't realize the warmth of you and me cocooned in quilts. really, i'm freezing. i'm getting into bed right now.
at once, my mind races and sleeps. it is a clear high note, a deep lulling one.
i am filled with warmth in this frigid, companionless bed, even though i just drank a glass of ice water.
i am light and heavy and loving and confused and scared and trusting and golden, and blissful.
blissful.
when i'm by myself i feel...well, you know. like i believe him when he says, "we must be in a movie," or "there's nothing i want more than you." and right now, only 18 minutes since i locked the door behind you, i'm still in this wonderful place. where you are, even though you are not, and i am, and absolutely no one else. this world of sleepy eyelids and over heating quilts. (speaking of, my blankets aren't nearly heavy or warm enough to drowse me.)
boy, would it be easy to spend hours and days in a row in those quilts with you. your contented sighs that both awake and sedate me. the anonymity when we are alone, together. the wholeness, somehow, that comes from our littered, ravaged, blotchy edges fitting together. i'm sure you've got them, even if you only guess at mine and haven't told me of yours. (it's okay, i know we'll get there.)
when you are you, i am me, it is we
and we are anonymous.
