on sleeping with a drummer
he grinds his teeth in his sleep, jaw tectonics,
enough to make me worry,
but i only remember this from the first time we spent the night together.
tonight we've not fallen asleep yet.
he made me a bath with the salts he used a few days ago when he was ill,
with some kind of tropical fever -- i guess performing in all that leather in a seventh floor okinawan venue will mess you up:
heavy air, cowhide constriction, percussion and sweat.
he's okay now -- we had his favorite sidewalk-stand ice cream on our date.
now he's dozing off.. i think...
his leg shakes a little, far away from us on the polar region of the bed.
he can't be nervous with me still, or is he?
his breathes the pacific breeze from our stroll this evening.
his right arm around me taps my shoulder.
i look into his face for the question but his eyes slip shut.
the dip of my back thuds a little from his fingers trembling like the late june drizzle of rainy season.
what's he doing??
i join him with closed eyes
and i feel it:
the pumping bass at our feet,
the toms and snare across my waist, fingering my equator,
my shoulder, the hi-hat, sharp and punctuated.
then i feel the entire rhythm in his body like a current, and my chills race with it as it snaps through my own frame.
i ask him with a whisper what he's playing.
he smiles, says he doesn't know.
i relax into his drum set and listen to his body's pulsing.
enough to make me worry,
but i only remember this from the first time we spent the night together.
tonight we've not fallen asleep yet.
he made me a bath with the salts he used a few days ago when he was ill,
with some kind of tropical fever -- i guess performing in all that leather in a seventh floor okinawan venue will mess you up:
heavy air, cowhide constriction, percussion and sweat.
he's okay now -- we had his favorite sidewalk-stand ice cream on our date.
now he's dozing off.. i think...
his leg shakes a little, far away from us on the polar region of the bed.
he can't be nervous with me still, or is he?
his breathes the pacific breeze from our stroll this evening.
his right arm around me taps my shoulder.
i look into his face for the question but his eyes slip shut.
the dip of my back thuds a little from his fingers trembling like the late june drizzle of rainy season.
what's he doing??
i join him with closed eyes
and i feel it:
the pumping bass at our feet,
the toms and snare across my waist, fingering my equator,
my shoulder, the hi-hat, sharp and punctuated.
then i feel the entire rhythm in his body like a current, and my chills race with it as it snaps through my own frame.
i ask him with a whisper what he's playing.
he smiles, says he doesn't know.
i relax into his drum set and listen to his body's pulsing.