Field Notes ▪︎ Prose (2)

21. Crossing the line

Some kind of citrus rind stained the odour of the air as she asked the cheek pinched against the blade of his shoulder.

"Have you ever wanted your death to happen tragically ?"

All he did was kiss her forehead and look at the tanned brown hue of her eyes

"I did"

How suicide had that lure of practical ideality at every serious situation sending visit cards stamped in cursive cordiality, dialing to the hollow beats of his heart so every ponding midnight, death followed him around waiting for him to return the call and come around.

"And then you tricked yourself up my sleeve, tied your snare to the marrow of my bones and plumped down amused your mouth a lemon joviality without the permission of my melancholy right there on my blue washy benches"

She followed his lazy fulfilling gaze havering already on her, as if taking every parcel of that face in imaginary miniature camera-takes

"I never felt more at ease but on those benches"

"Yet it was decaying"

"Tell that to me heart"

She said addressing him with unfaltering fragility knowing how just he succeeded to blear out her shielding flares to smothered wicks; melting her resistance thread bare and tempered till her chest depleted with a soft resonance cheating the line she drew in fear of being a means that bore abuse unrelieved for seasons on end, loving and hating equally in a blur of agitated fever that didn't acquire her delight nor a passionate kick of detestation; that line was not to be crossed by no howls of yearns.
She was determined to be alone sponging in the ultimate deepness of the manuscripts she wrote in pronounced some-what egotistical self-esteem and great conviction to the spins of hazard, failing to notice the desavowed despair condensing in snicks the cover page of these narratives.
The resonance but clutched at her heart and pierced her soul in a dark ridding thunder rolling her down to those tired and secluded benches.

"I'm glad you stayed with me...more than I often manage to say"

"I'm glad you found me beyond that line without a light or a 'fixing' torsh, just a hand curbed by that same faithful rage not ever daring to relent...you know I never had this with anyone"

Her lashes seemed lacrymore at first glance yet tamed affected passion seared in her irises divulging to gloss over the white of her eyes in a painful confession of need she never learned to tend to without causing more damage.

"It is all right I got you"

And if honesty presumed itself in a scene this is where it would hold itself; mounted to the swelling decline of a pastel orange half-light eating the lower skies, glistering salt-shipped bodies arranging themselves in each others flesh beyond what temporal hands can clutch, reaching swaying their light-pink carnations enveloping the other's flame in mutual sizzling tenderness. Leaching a burning flood, mouth to mouth without a wake to the rotation of the earth or the simmering angels entreating above their drumming heart-line to the devine, begging a plea to shed their everlasting predicament for a sublunary human breath.

9/5/2023