YOU WERE NEVER MINE
I
opened the door without knocking;
There
you were
sewing
buttons on your own shirt.
You
sat on the bed with a small woven basket full of colorful spools
and
worked the needle back and forth through the tiny holes like a Mighty Tailor.
You
barely looked up.
I
keenly stared at your shoulders, chest, belly with a small line of hair growing
up your middle; you, as brown as a coconut, a scar running from your clavicle
downwards aiming at your heart… like an arrow, pointing out to me the vital
part of your anatomy.
The
shirt was yellow, laid across your knees, and the buttons were bone, ancient, stolen
from other garments over the decades.
I’ll
never forget the contrast of yellow cotton on brown flesh; your indifference to
my presence and my awareness of yours; the throbbing in my veins.
If
I told you I loved you, I would lose you completely. I needed to keep you, just
as you were. How could I have known that then?
~~~~~~~~~~
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