he liked to lay in bed at night after
they made love or after they worked hours
apart in separate rooms on their art and she finally finally conceded she was
tired then he would come to bed and rub
her legs her back he softly rubbed her butt telling her a story shed quiet and he listened to her
consciousness getup to leave and sleep scramble onto the bed relieving her of
her day its mischief and skillfully effortlessly lay paint on her dreams
he heard everything in her
breath
relationships respired too
he was convinced
the breaths of relationships were
their goodmornings their goodnights were found in their simple touches caresses
gentle kisses sighed in their Iloveyou
Imissyou
sometimes there were reasons why
he couldnt hear their relation breathe
separation was the most obvious
they used to write letters breathe
they used to hold hands breathless
they used to call to say
goodnight when they were apart
they used to cheat surreptitiously
send text while workingbreaking their work ethic tho satisfying their sudden pangs
it was wonderful to open a
message and see I miss you something fierce I was thinking of you and forgot
what I was supposed to be doing The sun doesnt warm me like you do You ran
across my mind and left footprints
and it was awful when the texts
became fewer and fewer
breaths fewer and fewer
he could hear its wheezing hear insincere breaths from up high
in the chest up high and far away from
the heart
then he convinced himself
otherwise
inveterate optimists are made
that way
that way that It aint over until the fat lady
sings
weemorninghours, Saturday,
14 1. 17
