A simple silence; the look of longing in your voice, your smile. The serious stare that seeps from your eyes. They darken; a firmness in your voice. I can’t tell what you have
been thinking but know that you are contemplating death. Hustle, hustle.
I watch the pattern of light behind you: blurs of reds, goldenrod, and charcoal. The building has a smell, the back of the building with its shifting brick and endless decay. The
linoleum is cracked that I step on, but I will not submit to failure.
The dust falls, sliding down the long, strong whitewashed boards.
Everything is in slow motion; the world has stopped its violent spin for a few milliseconds of bliss.
I say, “I am so happy I could kiss you.”
You say, “Do it then.”
A deft movement as you draw me near. I scramble for my mind but I am mindless. Our lips brush together and I say, “No, I can’t.”
We fumble to the floor all the same, at a loss of our sanity and free will.
”…..tall and tan and young and lovely
the girl from Ipanema goes walking
and when she passes each one she passes goes “ahh”
when she walks she’s like a samba
that swings so cool and sways so gently
that when she passes each one she passes goes “ahh”
oh but he watch her so sadly
how can he tell her loves her?
yes he would give his heart gladly
but each day when she walks to the sea
she looks straight ahead not at he
tall and tan and young and lovely
the girl from Ipanema goes walking
and when she passes
he smiles but she doesn’t see..”