It seems like it was yesterday when I first met him. The shades of his hair blended, dissolved into that curl. We talked for hours over the things most people don’t seem to mind.
The cup of coffee held our lulls.
“Have you ever noticed how ‘cow’ is such a funny word?” he said to me. “Go ahead, say it five times.”
I did. And the world lost its meaning in my voice, in those eyes.
I missed his point though, I could tell. He looked at me waiting for the revelation.
So I tried again.
“Cow, cow, cow, cow.”
And I fell to giggles after the fourth try. Blushing I ducked my eyes down.
“CowcowCOWCOWcow!” he responded with big eyes, his hands dramatically up in the air.
He looked stupider than I felt. It was good to know the world doesn’t have to feel serious all the time.
We walked from the small café. It was much later than morning time.
We took a right turn down an alley.
Then across someone’s yard.
The sun seemed to hold the growling dog in a light that was almost magical.
I wonder if it held the same effect for the dog, throwing it's light also on us.
He told me how he played violin. That he was in town only for the weekend.
I scuffed my sandal across a pile of dog poo.
And tried to look interested.
Tried to look like I wasn't about to throw up.
He looked down to see why I was walking funny.
Then his eyes got wide and bright.
"Ahhh... I see your in a bit of a mess."
He smirked.
"I just did it to see if you'd be willing to clean it off," I said with a nonchalant air.
He looked into me hoping I was joking.
I didn't let him know.
At last he bent down pulling out a handkerchief. A white one.
He dabbed it delicately around my toes. Did a thorough job.
Or at least it felt like he did. I couldn't bare to watch. I'm not a big fan of poo.
Finally he stood back up. He slid a handkerchief back into his pocket.
A not white one.
His face looked white enough to make up for it though.
I just tried to laugh it off.
Moments later, we were walking across a dirt road. He was talking about the deeper meanings held in stepping into a pile of poo.
I stopped walking under an oak tree.
He found his body facing mine. And closely.
I remember his tongue sliding over my own. Teasing the insides.
I remember my fingers feeling his warmth, then feeling it throb inside of me.
Sweaty breath and deep fumbling thoughts.
"I'll come back to see you, I'll find you, I will." He tells me as he leaves.
I know he won't.
"Oh? And what will your intentions be?" I say.
He doesn't say a word though. Just smiles those bright teeth.
And looks at me with a gleam in his eye.
The cup of coffee held our lulls.
“Have you ever noticed how ‘cow’ is such a funny word?” he said to me. “Go ahead, say it five times.”
I did. And the world lost its meaning in my voice, in those eyes.
I missed his point though, I could tell. He looked at me waiting for the revelation.
So I tried again.
“Cow, cow, cow, cow.”
And I fell to giggles after the fourth try. Blushing I ducked my eyes down.
“CowcowCOWCOWcow!” he responded with big eyes, his hands dramatically up in the air.
He looked stupider than I felt. It was good to know the world doesn’t have to feel serious all the time.
We walked from the small café. It was much later than morning time.
We took a right turn down an alley.
Then across someone’s yard.
The sun seemed to hold the growling dog in a light that was almost magical.
I wonder if it held the same effect for the dog, throwing it's light also on us.
He told me how he played violin. That he was in town only for the weekend.
I scuffed my sandal across a pile of dog poo.
And tried to look interested.
Tried to look like I wasn't about to throw up.
He looked down to see why I was walking funny.
Then his eyes got wide and bright.
"Ahhh... I see your in a bit of a mess."
He smirked.
"I just did it to see if you'd be willing to clean it off," I said with a nonchalant air.
He looked into me hoping I was joking.
I didn't let him know.
At last he bent down pulling out a handkerchief. A white one.
He dabbed it delicately around my toes. Did a thorough job.
Or at least it felt like he did. I couldn't bare to watch. I'm not a big fan of poo.
Finally he stood back up. He slid a handkerchief back into his pocket.
A not white one.
His face looked white enough to make up for it though.
I just tried to laugh it off.
Moments later, we were walking across a dirt road. He was talking about the deeper meanings held in stepping into a pile of poo.
I stopped walking under an oak tree.
He found his body facing mine. And closely.
I remember his tongue sliding over my own. Teasing the insides.
I remember my fingers feeling his warmth, then feeling it throb inside of me.
Sweaty breath and deep fumbling thoughts.
"I'll come back to see you, I'll find you, I will." He tells me as he leaves.
I know he won't.
"Oh? And what will your intentions be?" I say.
He doesn't say a word though. Just smiles those bright teeth.
And looks at me with a gleam in his eye.
Comments
bravo!