corporeal

i wonder if the world would have continued turning if i had kept to myself that night, stretched out on the veranda, lights passing back and forth between us. what happened only happened because it seemed natural, just as how our limbs woven under sheets produced a feeling strong enough to move mountains. when i got up for a glass of water i feared you would fade into an abstract idea, and i thought about what i would say to people, how long i would spend explaining the tenor of your sighs or the corporeal hushed intensity of our wordless interactions across rooms filled with stock characters in the story of our nights together. the mojave seemed even larger then, beckoning and starless, and we knew that the best thing to say was nothing. if i could rewrite the script i would have said all the things your silence spoke against, like how i felt watching you make coffee for us that morning. i was thinking about what the day i decided i could trust you with anything would feel like, if that day would ever come.