three scenes

Would it be acceptable?
To travel to his center, to be caved in and covered
by his dark skin.
It would be OK to cry there, for him.
Safe; even though it is he who has so much more to cry about.
Or can I crawl towards those other closed eyes.
Absorbing myself into another.
Crossed elbows, covering his chest.
He too would probably accept my tears
even though he doesn't speak my name.
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the scent of un-ground coffee beans. Shade grown 'Afrika.' Lazy days, they haven't been here for a while, in the minds of us, the serious. Maybe too deep, that lovely sound of crisp tipped pencils in old thin papered notebooks, the layered flick of pages turning. Music in the foreground, guitar, piano, his voice, he's 'fucking high' and we're all so beautiful, humming. To leave this place we all imagined hurts. In my heart, like that aching needle she gently stuck into my arm to take what is mine and give nothing. Taking but no giving. Leaving my muscles weak.
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