--HELLO, IT’S ME.  I’VE THOUGHT ABOUT US FOR A LONG, LONG TIME.

Timpani

It’s a night unbound, or so I hope. 

We kiss like Klimt and Schiele paintings, consumed with color and contours, yet there’s a lighthouse inside you that I’ve never been able to reach. 

I stroke your face, your hair, your too-short toe, and when you moan, I stroke some more.

I stroke A-Major and B-Sharp.  I stroke your bells and cymbals and timpani.   

But when I stroke the calluses from your past, the ones that keep you unresolved, you flinch, bridled, stuffed inside an iron box again. 

So, I coax you back, nuzzle your neck, braid your breath and thoughts with angel twine, with the deepest kiss I can give you, the one I’ve reserved for such a time as this. 

I prep the dinghy, grab the oars, and push off shore. 

I kiss you again for insurance, and follow the shafts of light brushing over the waves, all those desperate miles in front of me, curling like fingers, beckoning me to come, discover the riddle, and heal what’s been wounding you all these years.