Off in the distance, #233

I watched
what appeared
to be
a deer,
prancing around
the field,
too far
out of
the woods
and with
not enough
fear for
a deer,
skittish creatures
that they
can be.
I tried
to make
out the
makeup of
the head
and the
tail when
the deer
split, I
realized it
was not
one body,
but two
teenagers from
the neighboring
apartments who’d
come together
to escape
parents, the
watchful eyes
of society
who says
they are
not yet
mature enough
to know
the difference
between lust
and love.
At first,
I assumed
the taller
one was
the boy,
the smaller
the girl,
he hunched
over her,
her bending
to his will.
At first
I thought
the girl
was the
one with
the longer
brunette hair
the boy
the one
with the
mullet, what
had been
the mane
on the
back end
of the
deer they
together created.
They then
rotated, in
whatever odd
dance they
were manufacturing,
up one
side of
the hill,
back down,
one chasing
the other,
one landing
on the
other. In
that orbit,
that rotation
I came
to see
that the
boy was
the girl,
or the
girl was
the boy.
They could
have both
been girls,
but with
the chins
of boys,
the hard
outline in
the face
and hips,
in their
arms twisting.
They became
one body,
this time
a goose
flapping
its wings,
wallowing about
in an
open field,
destined
by design
to rise
up, fly
only briefly
and then
to fall
back down
on its
webbed feet.
The feat
of these
two teens,
or might
they have
been middle
aged, or
even better,
a grandma
and grandpa?
No, this
is for
sure, their
lithe bodies
and dark
shaded mane
made them
definitely young,
teens defiant
of parents
wishes, ignorant
of the
cost one
pays for
the time
one spends
thinking about
the few
lost moments
like this
after they
are gone,
ignorant to
the price
of a kiss.
Off in
the distance,
off in
the sky
behind them,
a cloud
was dancing
with the wind,
a shape
being made
and unmade,
and in
their stomachs,
the turns
and flips
the butterflies
that were
not butterflies
but the
churning
of hormones
dumped into
the bloodstream
and receptors
flooded and
levees overrun.
I watched
them tumble.
I watched
them fall
back down
the hill
on top
of each
other and
give in
to gravity.
Again,
they were
one body,
a worm
or agile
monkey. Then
again, separate,
always separate,
while they
spend their
lives savoring
this moment,
keeping it
as a
trinket in
a box
on the
night-stand,
keeping themselves
separate from
the one
they spend
their life
with. In
that moment
falling into
one ocean,
into the
cold waters
of memory
that keeps
them dropping.

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A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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