In a room that is not very large, with people who are not very many, we feint and parry. The words, which are not my own, and are not your own, but some hybrid of meaning between the two of us, lust out into the air between us and my skin is hummingbird light. I look around the room, our gathered friends and think again, “fuck I’m glad I don’t have to do this one more time”.
I think it would be the undoing of me.
Like everything else that I have truly loved, it devoured itself.
I say I like you, you say you like me, but what I mean is that this story, which has only just begun, is worth re-telling. And truth be told, we are only the truths we try to tell. I tell you that you are mine, and you tell me that I am yours, or perhaps that is just what I heard when I told myself what I wanted to hear. Perhaps it would have made no difference at all had we said what we were really thinking.
You clap, and I am grateful for the sounds of two-hands clapping, the life-affirming act of witness born.
I was here
you were there
I was real
you were real
we were real together
Somehow the trees smelled so strongly of honey as we passed by that every breath was treacle tongue and thick between our lips.