Engine House

Periodically she would pause,
"Does this scare you?"
I press against the blanket, my fingertips illuminated as they brush over the seams.
"No."
Time would creep as the tattered man lumbered on
Shaking with defeat until the fluid of life returned to his wear joints
Only then did the veil leap into the sky, leaving him free and bear
As he had been during an altogether different era in his life.
I rarely spoke
As if speaking out of turn would garner banishment from my land of purple skies.
Could it have been my intrigue holding me back
Gently caressing my mind, lulling me to listen as a child unable to sleep
The subjects of which her words took from are not mine to name nor elaborate upon.
My tongue retires    
Our air became hot and humid from our incubated bodies
Reminding me off the thick and sticky Iowa summers
Now recreated under the comforter
No other soul had opened up to me in this way
A trespasser in foreign soil where each step forward was as concealed as the next.
Raw and streamline while precisely articulated.
It made me miss writing and all it had meant to me for so long
This is what I had been wanting
And much like the postage truck pulling up at the same time each day
Excluding Sundays of course
She delivered
Showing me the engine housed within her soul
Poorly equipt, I felt I should have been taking notes
Reminders of inflections, drifting thoughts, uncertainty and personal despair.
I doubt I'll see her that beautiful again.
So spiritually naked and thriving
An internal fire uncertain if it would be better off smoldering into ash by morning
Or adding tinder to strengthen the blaze.
I caught a glimpse of what a human being looks without skin
Reassuring seems to be the word I will use.
Cliche as it very well may be.