(photo via theotherway)
By all accounts the night went perfectly.
The music wasn’t too loud or too soft.
The crowd wasn’t pushy or sparse.
The whole city seemed to be throbbing in time with the beat of his heart,
and when he reached for her hand while walking down Main
she didn’t pull away.
She laughed delicately when he orchestrated the kiss
just as he’d planned
with the fountain backdrop
misting the sides of their faces
and was sure to tell her how beautiful she looked
in the moonlight.
On the street.
In the lobby of the hotel.
Like a Neruda poem, he said.
So, maybe the sex wasn’t perfect.
It got quiet in the middle when he whispered her name
heavily
dropping it on her like a weight
startling her back to immediacy.
He had hoped she was closing her eyes
in ecstasy
though, now,
in the harsh light of day
after turning back to the bed,
ladened room-service tray in hand,
he had to admit
(if even just to the empty room and fire escape)
she may have been falling asleep.
