Venturing to the blackness, at the edge of the bed they lie, legs stretched, shoulders relaxed, spent, feeling smashing about all they gave.
They break rules. Laugh in the silence, gregarious in the closed mouths, living in the moment’s so 2002, with a slight of hand they split atoms.
Season Jumping, they sweat fall and rise cold, all in the matter of a beam of light.
Being an “old” and re-entering the bedroom, I’m startled to see her cringe at the moon, howl between the floorboards. I’m half naked catching her motionless, head tilted, watching the candle flicker.
They see meaning in everything. We only see meaning when it means something.
One foot behind the other, you tip toe (slowly!) out, retracing your steps and prepare to enter again hopefully upon a different season.
Yet how tiresome it must be for you to think you’ve contorted the universe and all the proceeding nanoseconds that got us here. It’s limited sight and in that respect not much is shared and sharing (an old idea) is what love is in the bedroom of the mind.