whispers in its woven twilight best

She always applies her perfume with her eyes shut.

Kisses feel better in the dark.

She dresses as if someone is watching.  She undresses as if she’s being chased.

She believes she’s more open to possibilities when her hair is up.

Her hair is up.

She knows what she does to men.

Sometimes she even knows why.

He’s on her mind more than he realizes.

She hopes she’s on his more than she thinks.

She’s jealous.

She wishes that she saw herself the way he sees her.

Like every time it’s the first time.

He once described her smile as poetry amid the chaos.

She rolled her eyes to keep them from tearing.

She remembers every compliment he gives.

She saves everything he writes.

For her.

And she assumes everything is.

She’s dressed now.

She heads out into the night.

Creating the history she wants to look back on.

Perceptions shaped by youth.

A youth that can’t possibly know what will be important.


The rhythmic sounds pull her in.

Smiles — friendly and otherwise — greet her.

Moments and drinks are shared.

Roles are played.

The rhythmic sounds pull her in.

She loves her body, but it is easily led.

His eyes aren’t the only ones she dances for.

He knows this.

But his are the ones that see her the clearest.

She knows this.

Especially tonight.

photo credit: dlemieux via photopin (license)