Words That Change

Diary of an unborn writer #63 – Quip, whip, crack

In Uncategorized on 22 June, 2010 at 22:42
She let it drop – and thank you because the evening til then had been difficult. She was a writhing delicate snake in the sights: decoys and love revenges came spilling out one by one. The challenge of keeping track and riposting with quick answers was – exhausting. But she was captivating.  All the time vulnerable and all the time worth it.
There was naive sophistication there. Ploys and parlour games in her eyes, regal positioning of the head as another wise-crack whipped across the table cloth. You dodged and caught it in your teeth.
She needs to know your capable.
Dinner and choices quipped over and we’re really not getting anywhere, another coil and rise and a whip crack and then calm. Follow her in a direction and she’s introducing another. You are holding fire. You are listening. Not getting drawn:
“There’s a way in a napkin I find most pleasing” quip
“It was in Colombia, and the beds were coated in plastic” whip
“Shoulders are my favourite. They show enough to admire without giving it all away.” crack
~ o ~
An evening hesitating and maneuvring shielding and every now and then hitting back. She’s good at this and more than ready but you are steady as a blonde sliver of sarcasm reams its way faultlessly toward you.  Heaving a small sigh you step aside – see it whistle past your ear. She’s stunned and can do nothing. No one just lets it go. She would much rather you offend.
A look and she sees you’re serious. The line went nowhere into you, instead it hit a candle at the opposite table and that flaps disconsolately. She is alarmed and not quite as ready to hit back as you continue to eat.
~ o ~
A conversation places itself silently between you and waits for you to give it cause. Eating and then: “Why do you have so few friends?”
She is exquisite and unsullied in her attempts to unbalance. You murmur something in line with the portrait of a vulnerable man, not afraid to be possibly hurt by the remark and more interested in your food than attention to the words. Thank you chopsticks being my prop for that.
It can now be her turn to soothe.
~ o ~
Good God and then she dropped it! 5 seconds before you left. It was a smile and warm and  all over you. A hug and it dropped you. Layers fried and you can’t go back now because it was there and it intoxicated and all that patient revealing time was like a mistress with veils before a kiss.
This kiss was on a cheek but intrigued and damning yourself for patience that means you’ll come back for more. You keep finding each other and making excuses for wise-cracks and coffee corners and damn that angel if she doesn’t frustrate you more.
Desire plays at itself and paws the scarred ground between the two, waiting for a leap. We are in the lion’s den and one move sees us dead, another more alive than imagining.

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