I Rested in Your Arms MAG

August 3, 2011
By Mary Mattila BRONZE, Hancock, Maine
Mary Mattila BRONZE, Hancock, Maine
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

I rested in your arms,
your rough, tickling cheek

against my throat –
you kissed me,
your mouth warm and wet,


and I smiled,
more from remembrance

than passion.
Sunset hovered before us,
violet, orange and rose, and
an icy river the color of your eyes

curved under it.
I stroked your back pensively,
delighting in the way cloth
slid across your shoulder,

but my soul no longer buckled.
“This isn’t breaking up,”
I told myself,
“I feel nothing breaking.”
It was only changing – melting,
not unlike luminescent
sea-ice dissolving in
spring but still

there, after all.
Later, I turned to watch a
rectangular glow pass
over your profile,
lighting your eyes from the side,
caressing each dark curl

in gold.
You felt my stare and
clutched at the wheel,
veins rising, square hands

suddenly cold.

We parted after a few


dry kisses,
my mouth grazing reddish stubble
and yours pressing my cheek.
I turned at the top of the stairs,
wind parting my hair in a

thousand places,
and watched your white car

grow smaller,
disintegrating, a little
regretfully, into the past.


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