Valentine #8

The scene is this: we’re sitting outside of Lincoln Center in early autumn —

“We’re dead like those leaves,” I want to point out, the ones that fall too soon so that they’re forced to look up at their old branches and see what they’re missing…unstitched from home…hoping to land next to each other, but instead carried off by the wind.

— and you ask me to massage that spot on your right shoulder again.

“The knot only you can find,” is what you call it.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s