Saturday, November 1, 2008

The night we confessed until the sun came up, took off our secret clothes like two giddy teens - that lying shirt, those shameful pants - until we shivered in our honesty, all knobby kneed and pointy elbowed, giggling at our pale skinned truth (you and your slow, quiet laugh at my blushing and sweat. My stretch and groan. "The sky's getting light." Those pauses).
We must have held hands under the tree then, the one by the water, and that kindness was enough. That generosity.

And then the last confession removed the last laces of fearful silence with such a nervous breath,
such a naked, "I love you,"
held and returned.

There is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it leads to:
a) death
b) a walking away
c) that good night

d) all of the above

2 comments:

JB said...

this is uniquely you. i love how you know your voice. couldn't help but smile at option d.

deanna said...

Your processing is achingly beautiful.