Because I am tired,
an economy of words:
I love you, Ana.

Labels: By Evan

I.
You’ve lost your contacts again, so you can’t see me at the airport
waving and laughing into the phone I see you holding to your ear.
You’re 20 feet away from me and getting closer, saying no, I can’t see you yet,
not yet,
not yet.

How do I say I don’t want you to see me, afraid to see what’s uncurling between us, like dreams waking up?

On the train ride home, you point out the brightest-colored trees, just blurs to you. And I recognize something like loss in your eyes, gaping like the red rush of trees—gone.

How do I say I want to kiss you on the escalator, when we each glance from eye-to-eye-to-mouth, and our sentences brush against each other, like kids trying to dance, awkward, sweaty palms and all.

And how do I say you scare me when we make out in your room, and your desperation pins me to the floor? And how do I say I’m crying because I feel your eyes inside me, asking me for something I can’t give them, something I can’t even give myself?

Instead I push you away, and say it’s okay, and fall asleep, cold, on the couch.

II.
You try to kiss me all day, and I turn away till I say things I didn’t want to say, words that cower in the corner like wallflowers; old children, heads bent.
Your eyes, ashamed, climb the stairs to your room, spread your records on the floor, unfold their jackets, read their poetry. I forgive you, and I envy you, the way music ends your loneliness. How do I say I can’t find an end to mine?

III.
We kiss once, and then all day, exploring cities of skin-and-sound. Scaling escalators underground, we sneak into the subway without tickets. When you lose your keys, we break into your apartment, balanced on the roof, throwing stones at the window. The bad neighborhood leers below, children trying to be thugs jeering, threatening, afraid.

IV.
We sneak into the zoo late at night. And how do I say the deer walk like whispers?

V.
I try on and take off all my clothes for you, as your records dance across your room, spinning, their arms outstretched for you, alone. We fall asleep, wake up like dreams, our words falling into seems between deep breaths that rush like trees, that end like songs: in silence.

And how do I say you are finally close enough to see me?