Act 2: Old-fashioned.

Following your musk scent, close behind you, I follow the line of your footsteps. Your fingers covering my fingertips, we fitting in this space, empty and to ourselves.

A quiet corner, you order an Old-fashioned, just like in those old black & whites.

“I love you.” You always remind me.

I know.

You worry my heart will leave earth, without knowing your heart is mine.

You say, “Don’t be home feeling lonely, call me. And when he calls, and you touch?" Continuing, “Make sure to imagine me there.”

You look at me with intention, mixing seriousness with a grin.

I’ll miss you until the next time we say I love you again.

Until then your hand rests in mine. Your other hand on my knee, in between, mapping between tension, silkiness and thread. I love you, full lips pressed to me.

The blue overflowing in all of the windows, and matching the bluer part of your blue eyes.

And the sun hovers longer in summer, before my indigo hits the night sky.

Romanced by the South.
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