progression

A green formica counter
flush with the fingerprints
of hundreds of moments
stands guard
as the divide
between have and have not.

I have old emotions
rattling my brain and
pulsing through my bloodstream
and you have not a clue.

You brush your fingers through your hair
but instead of recommitting
your strands to memory
I notice your fingernails
are longer than mine.

Later we face the aquamarine fresco
of the pool.
We already know the water
is freezing
but I jump anyway
and with a smile
you plunge after me into its icy depths,
displacement of liquid
in action.

1:31 AM - 6/9/11