You Are Here

You are here, at the cusp of adulthood, the key is in your hand for 21C Autumn Lodge.
He is there, teetering on the edge of maturity in an adult body, a coffee in hand, a dog by his side and the world on his tongue.
For the love category of the Christmas Competition 2017

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15. But then they are open

 

But then they are open

Taking in silence

And morning.

 

Your head rests upon his shoulder

And his head is back onto the sofa,

A snarling

Snore coming out of a

Mouth.

 

You say his name,

Because it is tempting

Just to feel how the word slips onto your tongue

And how it feels to say the syllables.

 

The snoring stops

And eyes take a moment

To open.

 

“Yes,”

The word is gruff,

Sleep edging in onto the monosyllable.

And you finally know what the word means now,

It means

Smiles

And assurances

And you laugh at the absurdity of it all.

 

He tickles you

In a spot he shouldn’t know was that ticklish

And the laugh chases into the apartment

Apollo jumping up to bark

In hysterics.

 

“I have to go shopping,”

You gasp out

Into the laughter

And he pauses for just a second.

 

“Well not like that,”

And you look down at the pyjamas

You wear and the laugh comes about again.

 

You part ways for moments

And the road between you

And him

Is not yellow bricked

But bricked

In distance

And empty space.

 

You don’t like it.

 

But you shouldn’t feel it

In the way you do.

 

Maybe he feels the same?

Maybe he doesn’t?

If he did,

That would be the more difficult

Answer

To swallow. 

 

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