We sat in easy silence. We breathed the same rhythm. I drank it all in. The crimson corner. The pillow of his lip. As he talked I watched his mouth, thinking ‘let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth’. Would he kiss me? My god I hoped so. What is it in the Song of Solomon? ‘Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet’? His are like a bed of scarlet — I want to lie next to him with my lips just brushing his. And breathe cedar.
