picking at the strings of his guitar
20 months ago
as i watch him slumped over his guitar i trace the shape of his body with my eyes. his head is lowered in concentration to find the right notes. his lips are slightly parted leaving an empty space between them, compelling me to lean over the distance between us and kiss those impressibles. i forget to listen, but i memorize the movement of his fingers, gently, gracefully, and in pattern.
i lose myself in his presence. i wish to crawly deeply into him and swim through his veins because i know what flows through him is the same peace as music that plays up the lonely walls of a crowded room.
i want to be with him, more than the words i know to put together.
