Occasion

I watch the white curtains moving
from my vantage on the mattress
with my upside down eyes,
and every so often they part enough
that I can see the rusted metal awning
catch the sunlight pouring down
from the Eastern sky.

Her tattoo is like a center piece
caught in between the curves of
either side. A dragon wrapped
around a metal heart decorated
like to see it is an occasion,
and to me it always was a
perfect evening.

A small bite into the orange peel
gives her the leverage that she needs
to overcome the barrier and get at
all the fire locked away inside.
There is nowhere that I could hide
where she would be convinced
that I had vanished like the steam
that clouds the mirror every morning.

I watch her shadow move against
the open door as she dresses
in her room and I remember
that old theory of the cave.
If the shadows shown against the rock
were anything like hers I would
be fine there in my chains
for all eternity.

We walk out to the parking lot
and pass the birds that stand
along the grids that keep this town
divided into places.
We both know we are going to come
home tonight, but in that light
when everything is new there is a part
of us that calculates the distance
we could put between our backs
and everything laid out before us.