Kaleidoscope

I have a tendency to covertly steal her scent in as many places on my body as possible. When she’s distracted by the words that spill out of someone else’s mouth I rub my thumb and pointer finger together with her clothing in between. When she believes us to be so deep in conversation that I am rendered incapable of multitasking, I tangle her hair with the hair on my cheeks and my chin. I soak her smells up like a sponge and hold them for a day or so. Underneath my fingernails, tucked between the grooves beneath my nose, in the first few layers of flesh that decorate these arms and legs of mine. I am both of us for just a bit. I am myself as well as the one that I love each time I close my eyes. I am in two spots at once, inside the shade and in the sun. I am overwhelmed and understood. I am two separate sets of eyes and see the world as such, kaleidoscope sidewalk steps and pink sunsets. I have a tendency to surrender to the green that you would find in her eyes. The flotsam and the jetsam, the abandoned and the careless set of hands. I set her down sometimes, as if I will not pick her up the next time that I need her. I have a tendency to think things through too often when the outcome in my head is incorrect. I tell myself that I’m not capable. That I am sinning in the face of my Creator when I lay her down between the blades of grass and ants and moss. I don’t think I really mind though. I’m learning to be patient with the gifts that Mother Nature gives. I’m learning to be sacred in the placement of my lips. I have a tendency to think that only bad will come. I tell myself that I don’t need the good because I’m bad. I don’t really think I am though. I’m learning that the best way to become the person you should be is just by being who you are. I have a tendency to surrender to the outlooks that she shares whenever I can stuff my nose into her neck. I wiggle like a worm between the mulch before the rain has gone too deep. I count the freckles on her neck like sheep and heavy are the lids that sit atop my eyes. I am both too much and not enough. I am both monsoon and desert brush lit up, ablaze and unafraid. I don’t think I know that I am dreaming when I’m in her presence. I think it feels like being wide awake for once. Perhaps she notices the times I think I’m being stealthy but doesn’t wish to ruin it for me. Perhaps I am too busy in these quiet actions to take heed of what she’s taking at the same moments in time. Perhaps she lies awake at night with nose pressed to the places where I linger like a stain. Perhaps she’s both of us at different times than I. Perhaps our lives are mirrored in our images.