Weekend
Friday night we laid in your room listening to records waiting to feel our consciousness expand. The paint on the walls peeled around us as records spun, reeling in strips of cream and grey. I watched you without blinking for hours, every meticulous reflex of the muscles in your body shifting and stirring. We heard waves crash outside the windows as the flood gathered at our heels. We dove out the window and were already under water. Thousands of strings danced around your face as you dipped and rolled, billowing. We drifted tangled in each other, breathing through our pores, through one another. We rested on the sandy floor and watched rays of light poke through the ripples, plucked like harp strings, vibrations making tiny pulses in the water. We closed our eyes and held tight, then just let the currents lead us away. We landed back on your floor, gasping in air as an unfamiliar habit. We made a blanket cocoon and slumbered with hardwood paneling and dust bunnies.
Saturday night we hiked to the abandoned farm behind your house and indulged in scavenged chemicals and bottles of cheap wine. The sky was clear and the moon was bright enough to see everything perfectly. We took off our clothes and ran naked through the woods until we were out of breath. We noticed the dirt stains on our feet when we noticed we were lost. You closed your eyes and spun on one heel, a finger pointed out ahead of you, and you grabbed my hand and ran in the direction you stopped on. A cacophony of laughter chased after us and we swore we saw faces for just a second before they hid behind the tress. You led us back to the clearing and the barn and we danced around it, swaying like tall grass in a breeze. We fell asleep under the stars with leaves in our hair and sweat on our bodies.
Sunday night I called you from my bedroom floor and we talked straight through the witching hour. We played records for each other and you read your favorite poems. You fell asleep first so I just listened to you breathing with my eyes closed and mimicked my breathing to yours. I smoked three cigarettes to the sounds of your slumber, then wrapped my limbs around my blanket and fell asleep with the phone to my ear.
Saturday night we hiked to the abandoned farm behind your house and indulged in scavenged chemicals and bottles of cheap wine. The sky was clear and the moon was bright enough to see everything perfectly. We took off our clothes and ran naked through the woods until we were out of breath. We noticed the dirt stains on our feet when we noticed we were lost. You closed your eyes and spun on one heel, a finger pointed out ahead of you, and you grabbed my hand and ran in the direction you stopped on. A cacophony of laughter chased after us and we swore we saw faces for just a second before they hid behind the tress. You led us back to the clearing and the barn and we danced around it, swaying like tall grass in a breeze. We fell asleep under the stars with leaves in our hair and sweat on our bodies.
Sunday night I called you from my bedroom floor and we talked straight through the witching hour. We played records for each other and you read your favorite poems. You fell asleep first so I just listened to you breathing with my eyes closed and mimicked my breathing to yours. I smoked three cigarettes to the sounds of your slumber, then wrapped my limbs around my blanket and fell asleep with the phone to my ear.