As if to preserve some beauty between us
we play jazz on your car radio,
We ride along, side by side, our eyes
on the unraveling road, we sit silent
under the bold notes of Miles Davis.
I remember when the sound
of Billy Holiday’s crackling record
accented your words, a background
to the warmth of your hand on my neck,
like the light of the candles we lit.
I never noticed how they burned,
how we recklessly let the wax
drip and crash onto the table.
I saw that they re-made you,
sent flickering shadows across your face,
igniting tiny flecks of gold in your eyes.
I cannot tell you when
I began watching those candles,
watching the red wax turn into liquid
and slip away from the flame,
or tell you why
we continue to gaze at the skyline
after the sun has gone down,
why we sit in the darkness together,
as if we were still watching
the colors that bled into the tree-tops,
as if we weren’t staring
only at the black horizon.
Allie Parker is a Los Angeles based actor, writer, and attorney.
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