Mycelium of Falling in Love

The doors shut slowly behind them and their eyes turned towards one another. She wore red and blue, flannel, he a button up under a black blazer. Their eyes burned down on one another and he cast up his voice in haste, the words pale and awry. They walked side by side, into the library.

At five in the morning his phone began to ring on the floor. Tapping the light beneath the glass he silenced it. Outside a shade of dark blue hunkered down on the city. But a light slow ball on the horizon began to fill the blue with gray.

He showered. His stomach hurt. He wanted to see her again, to leave a kiss on her lips.

They walked down the street, hand in hand; in the movie theater hand in hand. He stroked from her palm along her wrist to the bend in her arm.

She looked beautiful with her hair down. Long, dark, and voluminous, it looked raven-shiny in the fading light of evening.

A blue jacket and a green shirt, green studded with rhinestones and the blue circled by a thin blue girdle. She had opened her coat to show him.

He wrote to her late at night. The stain of coyness. Agh. His heart thumped once and subsided lest he had slashed his chances.

They watched boats go by with one another. On the bench she pointed out the ferries. Cyclones of water spilled around the bridge’s foundations.

His heart first soared on the walk which followed their meeting. His heart surpassed the building tops over which they flew. His doubt faded away. The lamp filled the curving walkways with a pale silver glow.

They each waited for the other to write. They wanted advance but their doubts clung until the dissolve of reunion.

She read the book he gave her.

He read the emails she sent him, carefully sampling her words.

Their lights turned off past midnight, eagerly they thought of tomorrow. To sleep their bodies rocked down like leaves. Their hearts pulsing blood where grace abides asleep. Tomorrow?

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