As the excitement in the meter runs out,

time slows down, I jump up to slip

on one of his shirts. Papers fall

all on the floor. To me, it might as well have been a message.

That with every time this happened, marked

another tally to void anything else that made sense.

 

To him, Life and God pressured his common sense.

And when all else fails, his faith would get him out.

I forced my feet to pad along the hallway marking

the walls with friction causing it to slip

through the paint. Sizzle the lips. He cracked a message,

a code or some secret. In which, I wouldn’t let fall.

 

I can hear his footsteps…The sound falls

to still water. I stop to listen in a sense.

He’s in the doorway, showing a message

on his face. And afraid to get it out.

“2 hours and you’re ready to leave?” I don’t slip

and slide for 20 minutes to just leave. He marks

 

More than he thinks he marks.

Cradling only my words, allowing his to fall.

I pull at the T-Shirt, wishing I had a slip

on. He quivered, he froze… Lost senses.

I raise my hand to his cheek, he was out

of ocean seas and in a bottle, there was a message.

 

I pull out the message.

The paper worn out, burn marks

and all else, the words trying to find their way out.

Soon enough his tears stream as my eyes fall.

“Talk to me, so I can help this make sense.”

I said this so nothing more than our egos can slip.

 

I stroll back to the bedroom, where the sheets slip.

He follows along reading a body message

that I didn’t want to be alone. I forget about senses

being felt through us both. We marked

our places on the bed. Tension falls

into a dark sleep as soon as the lights cut out.

 

When the lights fade away, sense and logic dance recklessly allowing for the rules to slip

Out go tears when everything else seems to crane out a message

And maybe where we stand, marks where crosswalks don’t allow us to fall.