Big pink lips and lusciousness that could only be described by words like liquid and voluptuous and moist.
We looked at her and flipped the pages, there were a thousand more with eyes like feathers.
The words came out of the girl and she knew- there actually could be no asking- it was the center and the center casts no shadows and there just must be a moment when she can let herself feel what it would be like without questions. No answers either, just a place where the Real could come through the window like moonlight and stroke her with the softness of blue wings.
Center.
We try to maintain the center.
Center.
Center.
The windows were open and the bright daylight revealed all their flaws and they glazed over them like pink lip gloss or sticky donuts and their love coated them in candy without hard shells and turned everything pink and wet and ready for something more.
More? Yes, but not then. More? YES.
They sat in the car, sunlight pouring in. She asking the question. The words again.
The center.
Snuggled against a wiry beard of black feathers, she breathed in the darkness of a scented garage and oils.
We find the center. Look for it. Walk towards it.
The sunlight came in and she closed her eyes, letting the struggle inside settle. The moon could be there with its jagged edges. The silver light could be there with its calm. It could all happen in that tiny space where his legs could barely fit and she rustled up against him like a pillow. There were rooms with closed doors that she did not need to peer inside, places with more questions that spiraled like carousel wheels.
She let the ruffling wings settle.
Those words, once spoken, fly from the open wind and beat out the story of a new memory.
