Taking it with you

They say you can't take it with you. I now know otherwise.

   My untimely death, my mind persisted since, like a dream. Familiarity, in long absence of physicality, brought them all back: my fierce possessions.

Short-sleeved flannel shirt unbuttoned. Her sternum naked, her shallow breathing. Outside the day is hot, Atlantan summer. Inside my apartment newly revealed skin is cool and slightly moist with sweat.

   Thin and thin natured, a princess, father doted on. Eyes closed, expecting. Kiss.

   In the kiss there's silence; the room is silent; through the window the world has stopped. Afterwards--after this--I'll just keep my mouth shut.

The bimmer starts with a low varoom. She says we can't understand the world so why try, that reading the news will just shortcut you to depression; life is damnably brief and there's barely time enough to be happy. We should just be happy, together.

   Why that's impossible for me I don't say, even with her here, so near me now. Down to her ethereal footwear, a gloss-red, multi-strapped sandal, she's an intrigue. And I'm an abomination, smashed against the years like rocks. What she can't see is I'm bleeding, constantly and from everywhere. My taste for truth an insatiable desire, I can't stand to be lied to. Despite her willful ignorance she's the truth embodied.

   Twelve blocks to the east side of the city where I drop her off. No signs of affection. Roommates on the front porch. Says she'll call me later.