Sunday, September 19, 2010
Behind you two men with briefcases heatedly discussed
something that does not matter. In the scheme of things.
Squinting, shutting your right eye, stepping slowly left
as I instructed, holding -- from swaying into a taxi's path
-- you. Laughed.
Because you got it as it happened. You saw it, as I did.
We saw them align. Together. Howard Roark tossed his
sheets aside and leapt out of bed. I turned to your throat
kissing it for the first time ever, as your gaze never altered.
Laughing with me drowning everything that does not --
c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2010