.
the thinness of caravans
.
i can already feel our fingers grow further apart from each other, knuckles a chalky color as the grip tightens and in letting go the stems finally break. i hear it in his voice: so thick it chills me, an elixer sliding into my heart supressing the thumps that say cruelties foriegn to the usually drenched member. love has come to this- the rungs of deciding which step to take next and how many and whether or not the cooled wood is worth risking a splinter. and splinters- there are many, each with their own tales and throats that cough out what his words say but voice cannot due to the ferocity of silence.
when his voice soothed me earlier it contained a etheral quality that his straight-edged words lacked. i saw it first in his eyes as they kept moving lower and lower, down, first to the turtleneck of my sweater, then the curves of twin flesh, further to the zipper peaking out from my jeans, half unzipped. i think that amused him b/c his vision was averted several times and each time his gaze returned to mine the smiles were more exagerated. at the time, however, the thought slid from my mind as slippery as rain on decayed wood. the voice filled in holes my zippers could not.
"what of...?" he asked cautiously eyeing my belly.
confused, my hand automatically went for my stomach and then i gave a quick, explanatory laugh. "oh that? that's gone, over. it was nothing."
"hmmmm...."
"why do you ask?"
"curious."
except the look on his face was more disbelieving, wearing a ragged coat of confusion. i enjoyed holding all the mystery at that moment, finally being able to deny him what for so long i had been denied. suddenly i could feel his clammy hands over me again, flesh invited where only caravans had been before and nothing short of a lighthouse could have rerouted us. it reminds me of the first time i looked at it and proceeded to touch, the sensation unlike anything i'd felt before. similarly, his feel held a freshness that no one else had before or cared to preserve for me. as he draped himself over me as tightly as an eyelid and i hooked myself on- so afraid, afraid that letting go would cause the eye to open and reality to flood in, dripping, leaving stains i'd rather not clean up.
he looked me in the eye- straight in the iris.
"let me." said directly, with conviction.
but i could not let him swallow me; i looked away, my thin-ness increasing under his gaze and the hums of vowels lost under the eyes i could never close, eyes always averted, the caravans finally packing up to go.