soon after, i was born (fictionalized night of conception)

not quite a story nor poem

Warm, dark, bitter night; Dolores adds sugar asks if he wants milk. Todd smiles, knows she abandons bra by now, every night. Dress and Dolores move independently. Refrigerator door opens, air forces fabric of skin and fibers of silk to combine at small of back, shoulders and thighs…milk returned to shelf. Door swung gently closed. Last gust, Dolores attempts to ignore intrusive dress that has made home in areas that makes it invasive. She performs a small strut, a minuet to relieve herself though garment remained stuck. Todd shrugs smiles. He doesn’t mind the places the highlights reveal. He rises from chair and aides her escape. Receives a tiny kiss as reward.

Across street a band practices. Happy drunk, boisterous voices unconstrained by lame restrictions of logic, by coherence and sequence sober ears deem a necessity, seem the music. Instruments interject their conversations as punctuation peppers a paragraph; seasoned for minds to devour.  Todd and Dolores pay no attention. Beneath table: legs interlocked like branches and index toes rubbing to set fire to tiny digits like kindling and set the rest of themselves ablaze. �"You make the perfect cup of coffee. - She knew already. She had learned quickly that the right amount of coffee grounds was when many think too much has been added.-thank you.- Dolores using her smooth feather voice let the letters fall upon his ears and   Todd felt his head among clouds. �" I’m just proud I’ve influenced you enough to start adding a bit of milk…for years I swore you were drinking mud!- -yeah? Well, actually I’ve got nothing…- laughter on both sides of the street was syncopated.

The night and the crowd across street maintain conversation. Todd and Dolores let everything about embryonic love, although only so because they nurtured it as such in their hearts, wrap around themselves. �"So you think we’ve made the right choice?- Todd couldn’t relocate his eyes. She was like quicksand, and at times he struggled intentionally, just to feel himself delve further into her grasp. �"I do. I believe it was the best choice.- Her words were her body and they floated over the table and cradled him in their arms. Silver streaks, swirls, tapered and widening into clouds slid slowly, an askew orbit of a pair of lovers waltzing around the moon.

Coffee a puddle in drying mug; embers from toes ignite bodies as they retire to a room, in which they allow their fire to consume.

Reviews

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~ beautiful... truly beautiful... and quirky in a delightfully charming way... ~ p.s. i loved this particular line a lot... :)

"Instruments interject their conversations as punctuation peppers a paragraph; seasoned for minds to devour."