Squeezing my emotions and thoughts out so others can see and understand them, like a tube of toothpaste. As if, by doing such acts you pass quietly into other dimensions. There is more than one way to look at the world.
Some might see this and call it a sunrise. Box it in, label it. Just like the British dominion of nature. The cement and cobblestones strangle. We found this lone green space and made it ours. Some would call it a sunrise. But I cannot name these passing things. I see the sky turn pink and yellow, the darkness lifting, and his face outlined slowly, flashing white teeth as he smiles at me. We are under a large tree, and earlier my sandaled feet passed over the dew-wet grass. I notice the colors in the sky, and the sharp outline of trees breaking the horizon as I happen to glance sideways. The lawn stretches before my eyes to the left, and the sky on the right. He is magnificent, and it doesn’t hurt. Boyfriend for a night, yes, I think it is possible. We embrace passionately, tenderly. He sighs as I bring him in to my chest, exhales and smiles. Our bodies contrast. His dark hair, liquid eyes, and musky smell whispers of Arabia. His furry legs and chest recall – why not! – Persian carpets. Beautiful man. And me: sun-touched hair, fair, and not so furry. We realize we complete each other in the morning, and this place we have made our own. Taking turns, we enjoy each other. Some recklessness. Some adventure. Much passion. And now I can really say that I know the soul of Hyde Park, London.
A lazy cigarette afterward, as we sit naked on our clothes. We are alive this morning.
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