Strong hands mimic your strong back and your curvy spine mimics my locks of hair. When we lay next to each other your broad shoulders seperate our torsos but our hips cut close to regulate our body temperature on these nights in November. Classical music pumping out from your computer speakers and your fingers tap to the maestro's wand on my lower back as if I am supposed to keep my body in tune.
Whispers disguise the quality of our voices. So "Eskimo Kiss" sounds soft and slick. It's times like this we can say "lovertits" and get away with it. Almost in a drunken state we topple above and below each other.
We work at a restaurant. Ezra is a waiter, I am the hostess. When there is no one around we kiss quickly before the cameras can focus. As he walks by with two glasses of wine and cheese on a tray, his free hand slides over my ass; to customers this just looks like a mistake, an awkward moment between two co-workers and neither wants to acknowledge it.
We carpool. We take one car to work with a bicycle on the back. Sometimes I leave first so I'll leave the bike and drive the car home. Other days, when he leaves first, he'll take the car. We see this as our exercise; that and sex.
A lady comes in. I saw her riding her large tricycle past the porch earlier in the day. Her legs were spread really far apart at the hips as if she was trying to air out her vagina. I sat her outside near a tree. She ordered tea and Ezra served her. He told me after she left that she didn't have money to pay for her tea and that she asked other customers eating if they had any money to give. She was asked to leave the restaurant.
Ezra sat down and stared off deep into the fourth dimension. I knew something was on his mind.
"That lady. The one with straw hair and stick legs," he answered when I asked him what was on his mind. The lady couldn't pay for a simple tea and no one would pay for it for her. She was alone. He said he was afraid of being that alone.
I took his head and pressed it against my stomach. No one but the cameras saw us be so un-alone.