The neighbors didn’t know if they loved or hated what they were hearing.
But they definitely heard. Because the two of us weren’t quiet.
Like, when I exhaled, the bed frame rattled. And when he whispered, the floor vibrated.
And the entire time, we smoked and drank espresso. There was nothing in the refrigerator, except for dark chocolate (90%!) and champagne. I always kept a fresh glass of water on the night table, the one on my side of the bed.
My spine opened wider every time I twisted toward him.
Everyone talked about us while we spoke Italian to each other; within the August heat of a New York City sun, in the center of midtown Manhattan – not far from Grand Central station – underneath a cloudless sky.
We would speak to each other with our lips touching, a low song that no one else had ever sang to me before.
I only wore dresses. Not very much makeup. Only Chanel lipstick that he picked out for me, and which didn’t usually work out. I ordinarily kissed it off on the first napkin to reach me during one of our days spent walking the city together – before his tongue was in my mouth again.
We talked about family and architecture and traveling, mostly. Sometimes orchestra. Sometimes poetry… (excerpt)
ex·cerpt | noun
1. a short extract from a piece of music or writing.
per me. e noi
prima che qualcuno
avuto la possibilità
a lampeggiare. sognare …
prima non avrei mai potuto
Che si adatta un certo
forma; H e I
E i miei occhi
ha aperto. le mie labbra
it was like
he looked out
for me. and we
fell in love
had a chance
to blink. to dream…
prior to i could never
that fits one certain
shape; he and i
and my eyes
opened. my lips
when he touched me. i awoke. and my eyes
discovered ways to widen and expand.
it was like i suddenly became more
stretched. i could be. pulled in more
directions. a north south east west
way of expressing how i reach
for him. cut arms. strong thighs. his body
wraps me in limbs and whispers. that i
should never doubt; my only truth.
the one way anyone. broke. through…
i opened. to him. wide arms, spread
legs moving forward in a direction
to be in contact with what i only believed.
and while he whispered, we swore
that nothing would ever split between
us again. he… and i… always. promised.
FollowMeToNYC is a creative processing ground which expresses individual ideas that often change with the tides. Naturally, these ideas do not reflect those of any of my employers, or anyone else you might see me wandering down the street with one day.