The Watermark High
sunlight streams into my apartment on a cloudless sunday morning in october and on days like this, even i feel like i can find redemption. i can feel the sun burning away the guilt, the fear, the shame. the caked and dried blood cracks and falls from my hands and the metaphors i use to describe how i feel disappear under a cobalt sky. i remember driving across the southwest years ago, lost on interstate highways with only roadside crosses to guide me. you were in my thoughts and i could sense something looming at the periphery of apprehension. we had spent the previous week tangled in each other. you wore my clothes and i wore my heart on my sleeve. we slept naked under a comforter, wrapped around each other like otters. we made love under blue lights, slick and clinging to something that finally seemed good enough to be true. blissed out. whispering somethings to each other. we cried and kissed; we hugged and didn't let go. i drove through the mountains, heading back to california, chainsmoking and watching the gas gauge move toward e. i was moving in the same direction. i could see where the water had peaked millions of years ago. and now i can see where we peaked after one unforgettable week in december.