The Word

She dropped a word, the equivalent

of a breadcrumb, to see if he would follow. 

Wasn't disappointed when he took

the bait. 

They loosened their lips with 

a little port, poured in delicate

stemware. Then a little more.

Before long, the room smelled of 

blackberries and tasted like

unhinged laughter, cracking them wide open

to each other. 

Though grey morning crawled inch by inch 

up over the mounains, like a backdrop

in the distance,

they stayed, curled in front of the fire

and around each other,

trading stories, secrets that had

no bearing, since they didn't really know 

each other. Didn't exist in each other's

worlds. There was a comfort in it. 

She realized she sense no insecurity

crawling up her throat, choking her

words into silence.

There is a certain ease in sharing

yourself with one who knows nothing of you,

and can let you fade back into

obscurity as quickly as they met you.

He spilled the wine (and his soul) over the low crackling flames.

It was a suspension of

time and disbelief.

It was a world apart.

But it was only for a short time.

She breathed in the scent of his

wine-soaked breath across her skin,

vowed to remember it always.

His fingers danced through her 

hair, catching gently at the 

nape of her neck, committing

even this smallest of details 

to his memory. 

They parted, the ghost of

that word walking in their steps 

all the way 

home.