twenty-six letters;
thoroughly capable of expressing
every moment in a memorable
explosion of definition and faux
clarity/remembering the curve
of your palm.

contortions; physical and
literal, fiction finding face
as a myriad of clumsy movements
are relived and flamed rekindled.
fourteen thousand seconds drip
from between a million weary
brain cells and again you can claim it all
in twenty six letters or less.

vingt-6.

8:26am. you fell asleep with
your back to me/your face
to the wall as the light streamed
in through the curtains (it was
the last day of our summer).
coiled; waiting. ready to strike as
your breathing slowed and my
heart still raced from the cocoon we'd made;
sweltering body heat and
the smell of you/your room/comfort.

going over, in my mind; pictures and
those familiar twenty-six letters forming
a cohesive moment.
your fingers accenting the curvature of
my spine while I stared at the wall-away
from you-and a brisk second of courage;
faced you and stared you in the eye

frightened by the depth possibly imagined.
but remembered.

penned with the help of lamp-light
and brena. and longing.
and twenty-six letters.
at four twenty-six pm.
before work.

11/02/2004

Posted on 04/23/2005
Copyright © 2024 Erin Werle