Two of us

Stand

Huddled over the flea market find

The old record player.

One hand remains sheathed.

Shoulders closed off, forming walls to

Protect the past that is hidden within

Alienating the familiar.

Forgotten words and things better

Left unsaid fills the void between us.

Growing dire every second

like a faucet left on drip.

A shoulder thirsts for a hand

To bridge the gap.

He opens his stance; waiving the white flag

Inviting in the foe.

Yet the plea, the yearning, is left on read.

A weather hand stays burrowed inside the neck

Of the rabbit hole.

It trembles as he places the cover to the record player down.

Briefly, like a ripple along the water when we used to skip stones in the old lake in Carrollton.

My eyes dart quickly his way one more time. Did I imagine that?

My eyes dart again, but this time,

checking if the coast is clear. 

My mouth opens tentatively- dry like the Sahara sands.

I swallow hard furtively licking my lips, readying my self. 

The song wash over me. Waves covering me.

The rapid melody is in tune with my racing heart.

I take a deep breathe ready to spring into action.

I am a tiger ready to go.

The song ends.

We act

like we have a sense of familiarity

Like we always have done.

Forgetting to mention, 

That we haven’t in ages;

truly talked.