sprawling in slow motion
sometimes i see her
in the living room,
listening to that
old record under
tacky christmas
lights,
vivid vermillion and viridescent across
her skin,
lighting her up like a
christmas tree.
and the ornaments,
why,
of course,
are her
shy silvery eyes,
like pieces of
shimmering tinfoil,
so vivid and
vivacious.
sometimes i see her
in the garden, pawing through
dark earth, under the
sweltering sun,
beams of daylight
transforming her
mahogany hair to gold,
as if it were
set afire.
and she turns to me, waving
soil-stained hands.
her smile,
so sweet, as she
beckons me to aid her attempts to
plant those strawberries
she loves,
and we do,
quietly knowing
life’s too good to
hurry,
and slowly, we
savor it.
sometimes i see her
in my bedroom, dancing, under those
tacky glow-in-the-dark stars we
put on my ceiling,
the soft lime glow illuminating her
swaying figure,
so carefree and
gentle.
and she’s singing along
to a song that plays on that
old vinyl record
we got in a dusty
antique store,
and it’s sung with
a voice of gold
by a young man who isn’t
young anymore.
but she sings with
him and his
honeyed voice,
and the piano sings too, softly
following the melody
like a lost,
loveless puppy.
sometimes i see her
in slow motion
under our shared roof,
as we dance to
our song
on that old vinyl record,
the pitter-patter of the rain
making it all so
surreal,
like a cocktail-induced
illusion in the midst
of midnight.
and she smiles against
my chest as she listens
to the bass sing its
placid,
poignant bassline
and i want nothing more than to
place that special ring on her dainty finger.
but she said slow living
would be good for her,
so instead of unveiling that
special box from my
pocket,
i close my eyes
and listen, too,
briefly believing in
things like soulmates
and fate.
always, after i see her,
i’m in my bedroom, under those
tacky glow-in-the-dark stars we
put on my ceiling,
and the sky shrouds
the whole world in
shadow
and all that moves are the
rivers of woe
and grief
cascading down the
side of my face.