Behind a Velvet Rope

At first sight, I began to feel the pressure surmount; every second; a lifetime without. Ten-minutes like this and my brain could become unresponsive. My heart wants to stop.

I breathed deeply, allowing the flow of oxygen in, exhaling the poison out.

There’s much resentment in this space. Brimful of feelings I’d misplaced. Feeling exposed; a vulnerable state; crooked emotion portrayed on my face. My eyes wandered aimlessly across the floor, wondered if the heart could be wounded anymore.

I turned my back temporarily, out of undying necessity. One dozen roses; one war of the roses; thorns, difficult to detach, cut deeply and scratch—

Recoiling back, to those reclusive days, recalling the inhumane ways I’d been betrayed; weeping oceans of salty water, until I’d drowned; dehydrated; shrinking, kneeling; down; waiting in love captively; like a slave in mastery.

I breathed deeply, allowing the flow of oxygen in, exhaling the poison out.

I glanced over my shoulder. I could no longer see him; albeit I could feel him closer. My heart is resuscitated; beating strong and rapidly; breathing steadily. Feeling hopeless; the opposite of despair. Not an unfamiliar pace of the heart. Brought about, perhaps a moment of happenstance, he walked by; his hand brushed like a pedal’s touch against my moistened hand; an ode to hopeless romance.

The beating of my heart rang out like a sonar wave; summoning his attention to befall near at an ultrasonic wavelength only he was meant to hear. Like a measured reflex from a couple of yards away; he turns around, and our eyes meet, seductively he smiles, satisfyingly to me, with pearly white teeth.

A work of art, statuesque; chiseled definition of perfection. In those eyes I yearned to see my reflection. Deep waves on jet black hair; strong cheek bones accentuate his glowing face. Within those arms I yearned to feel his embrace. Panache and a well- groomed mustache; perfect placement above his full lips. I yearned to hear him speak. I presumed a pitch perfect baritone with a handsome undertone; qualities in a man I could condone.

Like a Picasso display, portrait of Dora Maar; from behind a velvet rope, I would gaze in fondness for ours.