Oui, oui
Thursday 15 December 2011
Tuesday 6 December 2011
Take her to the cinema...
Small talk does not apply.
You haven't long to explain yourself, share your flaws and celebrate each others strengths;
the film is starting.
Naturally you walk in as it begins, avoid the agony of silence over trailers.
Beside you, his frame compliments yours. His movements sooth you subconsciously until he settles:
facing forward.
Your heart beat quickens. In the dark, it could be just the two of you.
His hand rests on his knee but his little finger moves slightly
every now and then,
as if he wants to extend it and have it touch yours.
It happens.
Softly, gently, your remaining fingers find his; a slight caress. And the receptors in your brain jump
up and down, up and down.
Your heart - infinetly wise and intuitive of your needs - gives an inaudiable sigh of relief.
You feel you've met your maker.
First cold, but slowly warming, his skin is slightly rough, and the big hand dwarfs your own.
You stroke the innerside of his thumb.
Beat by beat you feel through each other. Every movement as if my magic sends the nerves at the very tips of your fingers coursing through your body to land as a lump in your throat.
You want to swallow, but the moment resounds as such perfect silence that the notion itself is too loud.
Voices may boom around you and images flash but when your palm travels upwards, ever-so-slightly to meet his, it's just that perfect silence.
It's a wonder how he knows to pass his hand along yours, down to the base of your wrist. Your pulse,
will certainly give you away.
You laugh because other people do, with no clear understanding of anything,
sensation having replaced conciousness.
The elements have shifted and manifest as energy shared purely through the involuntary, perfect touches between two, in the dark.
You haven't looked at each other yet. What's happened in this film? You walk out and have no idea what you've both been through for those 90 minutes of Hollywood time.
The stark lights force your hands apart.
It's too clinical out here for intimate contact.
You might shuffle from one shoe to the other, two-step it out of the door, stand in the cold
and wait.
He might use his phone to call you a taxi.
before disappearing into the night as you peep over, through the window, back into his eyes
fading beautifully into darkness.
You haven't long to explain yourself, share your flaws and celebrate each others strengths;
the film is starting.
Naturally you walk in as it begins, avoid the agony of silence over trailers.
Beside you, his frame compliments yours. His movements sooth you subconsciously until he settles:
facing forward.
Your heart beat quickens. In the dark, it could be just the two of you.
His hand rests on his knee but his little finger moves slightly
every now and then,
as if he wants to extend it and have it touch yours.
It happens.
Softly, gently, your remaining fingers find his; a slight caress. And the receptors in your brain jump
up and down, up and down.
Your heart - infinetly wise and intuitive of your needs - gives an inaudiable sigh of relief.
You feel you've met your maker.
First cold, but slowly warming, his skin is slightly rough, and the big hand dwarfs your own.
You stroke the innerside of his thumb.
Beat by beat you feel through each other. Every movement as if my magic sends the nerves at the very tips of your fingers coursing through your body to land as a lump in your throat.
You want to swallow, but the moment resounds as such perfect silence that the notion itself is too loud.
Voices may boom around you and images flash but when your palm travels upwards, ever-so-slightly to meet his, it's just that perfect silence.
It's a wonder how he knows to pass his hand along yours, down to the base of your wrist. Your pulse,
will certainly give you away.
You laugh because other people do, with no clear understanding of anything,
sensation having replaced conciousness.
The elements have shifted and manifest as energy shared purely through the involuntary, perfect touches between two, in the dark.
You haven't looked at each other yet. What's happened in this film? You walk out and have no idea what you've both been through for those 90 minutes of Hollywood time.
The stark lights force your hands apart.
It's too clinical out here for intimate contact.
You might shuffle from one shoe to the other, two-step it out of the door, stand in the cold
and wait.
He might use his phone to call you a taxi.
before disappearing into the night as you peep over, through the window, back into his eyes
fading beautifully into darkness.
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