Sit Still

Do you remember the dress I ripped on the rocks when we were climbing, she asked? God had given it to me to keep, from his own private stash. The lingerie of longing. The desperation of future husbands waiting in the bedroom. Governments will come between us, they said. Vast conspiracies of silence. Bureaucracies of mental clutter and the revenge of average people for average lives. Come, wash your hands in my hair. The locks dropped as the keys dissolved into thin air. Smoke floating sideways, licking its way along the sewers. The density of destiny. Forever engraved underneath our feet. Sit still. Don’t look so shocked. You saw them at the checkpoint, questioning her. The way her lips turned inside out with lies. The startled look on the face of the sun. Linked arms across the drawbridge. Times spent kissing wildflowers. Hopelessly endlessly fixated on the same thing. Figures dancing far off in the twilight. I can hardly make them out from here.