Lily and I

Sometimes when he is with Lily things aren’t quite 3D. For Lily he can become soft plastic and mould himself to fill her every crevice. He bends but never breaks because what Lily needs and wants is easiest of all to give. Flowers sometimes. Putting them into her blushing hands is like saying thank you. Watching her balance on one foot to put them in a vase is as consuming as a kiss. It is a beauty only he sees. Or so he thinks. He likes to think no one can appreciate the modest grey eyes, the rhythmic drumming of her elegant fingers like he can. He enjoys needing her.

Lily enjoys wanting him. Lily appreciates the lingering leers, the back breaking love. She thinks she does. Her beauty is selfish. Lily keeps her eyes open when they kiss. The flowers she puts out for her friends to admire. Lily wants to be able to say “Oh that? Just something he dropped round”. Lily sees him contort to place himself between her and the door, sliding it shut with his foot. She feels flattened.

Symbolic. Sinister.
Lily lets him do it.