whatever it is

tangled limbs and garments. we were playing dress up with new fits we found you for birthday parties with your other people. my favourite is your favourite is the twee: oversized shortsleeved soft green beige checkered button up tucked into silly brown woollen something between a skirt or shorts. my back is hurting and I lie on your bed in these clothes.

you play the CD I told you to buy at the second-hand sale on King St before lunch. it's one of my favourites but new to you. you join me on the other pillow, reacting to every track like a gift or revelation from a time capsule. rain finds the windows with the dusk as it dawns. the album is followed by the Russian doll. we've sung her together before.

there is a beauty to this simple scene, a beauty that is frightening. a stillness in your room and arms. my pictures on your wall. the same psalm on our tongues. as we are, once more without any expectation, held by each other and whatever meaning we want to embellish the moment. you ask what it might be. I tell you I don't know, that you can call it what you want, that I like whatever it is. you smile and agree and that's enough for now.