The Great Escape

(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


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.


3 Comments Add yours

  1. Hunter says:

    Ha! Should’ve seen that one coming…

  2. Mr. Apron says:

    Just like a Neruda poem.

    Only better.

  3. Wendryn says:

    Heh. Nice! I like the ending.

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