rome roses, spring 2015
***
when i stood outside the door, i held a rose in my left hand.
it is not to say that the rose was held by my hand by the door, or by my standing outside of it.
the two events happened concurrently, unaffected by the other.
my shawl draped on my shoulders.
my black dress made blue in an uncertain light.
i stood outside the door, dreaming in the shadows.
these hours spent with you. this time with you as though the world wasn’t ending. simplest things, made spectacular: speaking, laughing, eating. in a statement made by entwined bodies, we are reminded of the essential.
we stretch our arms, touch the sky with our fingertips.
then we sway, side to side, to music.
you call it electro-cumbia. it is neither of those things. it is layered, a cake. it is sweet and baked. my senses make a feast of it.
i close my eyes and let my obscured pupils follow the geometry i imagine with each underlying melody.
there are people who cannot see when they close their eyes. when asked to picture an apple, they see nothing. they cannot visualise it, make it red, shiny. they cannot conjure two green leaves to its perfectly curved stem. their minds are a blur of shadowy darkness. the idea of an apple materialises, but it never takes shape.
i am one of those who cannot see when they close their eyes. i learned this truth about myself the same way a person who is colour-blind realises there are no reds nor greens. the world informs them of their singularity, their peculiar trait, taken for granted.
i look down and purse my lips. it isn’t to judge, not in dreams.
you press the sun of your palms on my body. i inhale your skin — your skin a downy reverie, so warm to the touch. i run my fingers on your back, your chest rising and falling with every breath.
you close your eyes.
your eyes are the sky behind their eyelids.
what do they see when your body covers my body?
outside the door, my right hand hung by my thigh.
outside the door, my hair wrapped in a silk scarf.
i should use it to cover my mouth, breathe in through fabric, breath lingering on the fibre, but instead i bring the rose to my lips.