They rounded the bend, the lake as coffee before the quiet rising sun. Trev sat upon a boulder and begin to write. Em stood behind, watching over his shoulder, occasionally kissing the top of his head. The cottage was a pastel blur from across the water and only the sound of birds accompanied the sound of his pen on paper, a sound Em had come to love, a sound unlike any other. When he finished, he tore the sheet from his notebook and handed it to her. With bowed head, she walked to the edge of the lake, soaking in the spaces between the words, swimming in his vision of present and future, of them as an us, of life blooming as only they knew it to bloom. She would later say, nothing was ever the same again.
I love you dearly. Miss you like crazy when you leave the room. Can think of nothing else but your arms, your lips, our home humming with activity, the energy positive as sun. I need to swim in your eyes and wade between your legs within that dewy blossom pink and red, tight and taut. I need to see your hair flow like rivers over the pillow as your cheeks arch before my kisses sweet. I want you in ways that would make you blush and take the words from your tongue and throw them out the window. I want you speechless of lip and expressive of face when you are asked of coffee, of us, of sheets that sing in morning light. Most of all, I want you pregnant. With our baby. I want to make you pregnant, to paint your world with colors you don't even know exist. I want you to know joy and happiness not as some occasion here and there, but as something abnormal by absence. I want you to know love, my love, as from a well everlasting, bottomless, of water cool and fresh on summer days. I want to walk us among maple leaves and stare upon the sky blue of winter to come, of autumn rustling, of hands held warm. I want your lips in the crisp of winter and your breath as plume upon me before bird and branch. I miss you. I want you. What more can I say.
love
Trev
4 comments:
On a side note:
Rog's brother, Chaz, has not been sketched yet. However, yesterday, I saw him, on the cover of Rolling Stone (Leonardo). If I can motivate myself to draw, well, we could have an opportunity to explore a little more of what happened after that fateful morning on the dock when brothers took different paths and Rog had to watch his little brother leave without him.
Ooooh, crossing all my bits and hoping for the above.More of Rog's background, of his brother, and father, it has always been of great desire to know.
Lush - with such absolute sincerity, ahh, but we need much more of this in the world, this expression, this compulsive exposure, this...complete lack of guard, this immersion first and foremost into oneself, so then and only then the ability to do the same with another. Devastating in the best of ways. I think of the Valentine hearts and bears club and LMAO, declarations indeed.
My weekend was hijacked, am running on empty, with no business commenting tonight, so forgive what i do not get around to saying and times what I do by infinity.
I often think of that parting, of Rog's dock story, of Chaz watching his brother walk away; and too, of what became of him and his vessel, of those nights in his cabin, alone, thinking of his brother, wishing, hoping beyond hope that one day, once again, they would be together. When I know my heart is strong enough, I'll write of it. Maybe I need a few weeks at the cottage, hands on my shoulder, eyes on the screen and sighs shared in the creation of life as alive as you and I. :-)
As always my dear one, your comments are deeply appreciated. Thank you. xoxo
Poppet
soaking in the spaces between the words
custom wood furniture
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