He stood in the background
not moving one iota
except the occasional twitch
of ninety-degree head-turning--
front to left, to front, to left;
smoking, of course,
hazel eyes watchful like a lizard in June.
He of the same name materialized
from years long past, unanticipated.
She was of a mind to let him walk on by,
unrecognized.
Once past the surface it was too late.
He came, lit-up, open-handed,
forward, and silently invited a word or three.
She'd been sitting, waiting,
for a fight to start,
for shock or denial,
for ownership to snarl into the fore.
But no, over his shoulder
all she got was permission.
Almost, but not quite,
like the father of a bride.
He did not give her hand;
he simply did not prevent it.
Up she stood to what seemed her full height
which was half of his in this skewed parallel,
and made squirming uncomfortable presentation
of what was too obvious to deny.
A flash of thought,
a mental body wave
said, "I'm not the same."
It was all there in that one phrase, a warning.
Waiting like a skyscraper of flesh,
just over six feet tall
in the likeness of a Nordic demigod
all he said was, "It doesn't matter."
The only answer.
It went deep, a perfect fit,
sword to scabbard.
The outspread arms
enfolded as she unleashed,
jumped, uncoiled herself;
they claimed each other mightily
in tears and emotions and "ssh's."
(Uninterested, the unconstrained third party looks on.)
Somewhere in the flood
of warm gut-felt love
a question was posed psionically
that pulled her up short.
Unsure of the answer and unprepared,
she felt teeth on her neck.
The arms no longer held;
she hung, mid-air, by her own,
pressed against the tree-hard body
that forgot what it had said
and now whispered of want, and
"Let's get out of here."
As her skin is bitten and chewed upon,
however delicately,
no answer surfaced,
no decision reached.
What she left had found her again,
looking over his shoulder as
he breathed down her neck.
PamEhli/2003
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