Fireworks
I didn’t know
what to say
or how to feel
or why
w h y
my heart was racing
as fast as it was.
Wavy locks
of dark auburn hair
draped down your left shoulder—
a gorgeous grin grew
enveloping your face
as I neared closer.
I held your chair out
and watched you side-step
out of sheer confusion,
as I made my way
against the wall.
Admiring
the way
your eyes lit up
each time
they met mine.
Attempting not to stare,
I lowered my gaze
seeking refuge
in the silverware.
Savoring
each and every second;
far more than the
minute mouthfuls
I took;
regaining composure,
and satiating my true appetite
between bites,
with the most delectable
thing in the room.
I craved, terribly,
to drink you in,
to sip your soul,
to taste your troubles,
your vices
your virtues
you
r being.
The weary sun
soon evanesced,
shrouded entirely
by our city’s trees,
and we watched
the sky
as it crimsoned above us,
to a bewitching
reddish-brown.
I expected
it’d retreated
for the night,
until my fingers
found it once more
nestled safely, within
the strands of your hair.
They slipped down your side
only to be stopped at your waist;
my lips caressed your shoulder,
as your body finessed its way
onto mine.
I pulled you into me
closer,
attempting—and failing
to remember
that breathing
was compulsory.
I was in a state
of waking apnea,
but all that mattered
was your preeminent
presence;
that you chose
to be there
with me,
you chose.
Sharing smiles,
and synchronous
heartbeats
in silence—
interrupted only
by the jazz saxophonist
practicing chromatics.
But not a single word
was necessary;
we felt exactly
what the other was thinking,
we knew exactly
what the other was feeling.
The tips of my fingers
traced the insides
of your thighs, as the clock’s
hands extended to twelve,
and nine;
fireworks ignited the night
and I introduced your lips
to mine.
