O5 april .
definite azalea,
in the sporadic slither of a moony noon, you arrive like a soft pollen particle. through earth's harmonic breeze, you create your own trail of kisses and secrets in a swish. in a messy dancing attempt, you fall onto me—our atomic collision— with your sandals flying off your feet and landing on the hardwood, your chest meeting mine. upon impact, i huff a tad, and you giggle with utmost delight.
"shall we tip-toe through the garden and lie, limbs entangled, on its lush greenery?" you ask, sparkles of sunlight against oceanic creases swimming in your eyes. a cherry sweet singsong you made all by yourself carries dreams i never knew i craved for.
i nod rather bashfully. your lashes, the tip of your nose, your lips, everything about you—everything that is you—not a meter, not an inch, but a measurement close to none separates us.
"your way with words makes my heart furl in itself." in confusion and with a swirl of haste, i mutter with hot breath fanning over my chin.
with this, you reposition yourself against the boxy fabric of my trousers, scratching my skin, propping yourself on my thinner legs. "'nuff with your bollocks, terrence. you can forget your career in poetry. you're no neruda."
"yet, i make you fall in love so much, don't i, jeremy?" what magic allows a modest man's tongue to glide this way? ask me in our near future together, even as you're very much knowledgeable of its root. . . i will say,
"you"
"what is it?"
"you must be a time
traveller's lost charm"
colors of wonder flash in those brown irises. such a beauty you are with your rebellious innocence and careful movements and your soul evergreen.
i smile out of sheer happiness, is all. a happiness which our togetherness does not fully govern. it is a simplistic kind, a happiness caused by your silly grin and clumsy fingers.
a time traveller's looking for you in every timeline. little does he know that you've become someone's owner. (for i am a thief, yet I'm no false possessor; you are found, yet you were never missing.)
who are we? in the unfilled trenches of our lives, i will make sure that you know who we are. soon, very soon, my darling.
—zinnia