Behind The Yellow Door

Can I climb into your chest,
nuzzle myself into your heart valves?
I do ask to flow in all directions,
through your veins.

Pumping, thriving in your streams,
leaving residue of me.
Supernatural platelets,
carving out my design,
reassurance that you cannot shake me.

Tattooed in each cell,
tapping your blood vessels,
lingering imprints,
leaving my mark,
fluttering remembrance,
with each passing nutrient,
cascading oxygen,
I breathe in you.

Shock sucked out her air, while the elation squeezed out tiny sweat beads onto her forehead. Her chest heaved staring — stripping into the core of his eyes. Straddling his lap boasting an expressionless face. Daring his tongue to allow speech to escape his silently moving lips. Time lapsing, her words penetrated as the walls pressed in waving her into powerlessness. Sitting boldly with the reality of her speech coating the entirety of the room. Her expression softened, bracing inwardly, clinging in the silence. Eyes becoming moist, a sigh breaking away, shoulders falling. The lioness had lost her strength.

Long silky strands shadowing her face, she could do nothing but curl up into him. Thoughts filled her mind, scrambling for a plan to cover up the words. Flippant thoughts, comedic musings rolling around her sundry mind. Settling into the piercing in her heart, the foreboding cloaking her in coldness. She decided to soak in as much of him as possible. Consuming each part frame by frame. Clicking image after image, sucking up his fragrance into reels. Detailing his shadows, curves, tiny hairs, lines, color, feel, remembering his touch folding it all into a storyboard. Losing any seconds was not an option, quickly deciding there would be no edits.

Attaching to the particles in the room, sealing color, images and song into stills. Filtering in the scores filling the masterpiece with sound and emotion. Caught in the theatrics of the movie pursuit he finally spoke after centuries had past, before she could fabricate an end.

“Who talks like that?” breathing out leaving an obscure heaviness pressing her ears.

Not sure how to respond she didn’t.

“Seriously, I do not know anyone who talks like you. What am I supposed to do with that?” with a slight chuckle as he pulled her up to look at her face.

A limp rag doll, energy siphoned out anticipating daggers hitting her flesh. She slowly raised her gaze to his. He wasn’t all that scary. Fear gripped at her innards, scratching and tearing, preparing for him to say “The End.” Lips tightly shut, heart pounding, and mute she waited.

“I don’t know how to respond. I cannot come close to those blaring words. They don’t come to me so poetically. Why do you say things like that? a statue looking down.

Her eyes burned, trying to keep the trickles from falling, her throat choking itself. Air became scarce, no longer able to keep the clasp around her mouth she spoke softly “It was just a poem. It escaped my lips before I could stop it.” Sucking in air hoping she wouldn’t pass out from pain.

He kept his eyes on the floor “You must talk to everyone like that.” his shiny frame turning dark.

Eyes rolling in the back of her head, she began to quiver shaking out “You are the only one who has ever heard my words. I have never spoken in such a way to anyone else. I let you in. Your words are the only ones that  know how to touch me.” Guts spewing out for the world to see, collecting every word to keep safe and sound in the film vault.

Crinkling his brows, the wrinkles of his forehead glistening in the light floating out “Let me in?” He tilted his head coaxing her eyes back to his.

Watery eyes filled with the ache of holding back. No longer could she keep her thoughts to herself, if she was creating a movie it was going to be a grand motion picture. Sitting upright valiance scaling the room, verity clustered into molds of speech. Dancing expressions forming a manifesto attached to the vibrations of the air. While the Universe sang, and played tunes to such sweetness to its ears resounding the trumpets that live in the silence of the stars waiting for the nights like this when a person decides to speak exactly what is in their heart. Her thunderous devotion sprang out as the cosmos quaked.

“My heart is a wondrous yellow door. I keep locked and chained hiding my many magnificent mysteries. No one has ever entered by permission. All have busted it down and invaded, corrupted it, stripped it of its vibrancy…except you. You did not try to kick it in. Gently you came knocking, and retrieving. I left it open a crack for you to peek, a tiny sliver glaring a blasting sun-fire.

The more you retrieved the more I opened. Cautiously peering out, watching and waiting to see what you would do with each tiny glimpse of my light. My being desiring so much to share this with you — me. Giving you my heart, and words. My precious, collected, delicate, meaningful words.

My door felt safe fully opened, and my lingo was not afraid…until tonight. When my words took on a life of their own and shared my innermost thoughts. I had no intention of slipping my essence into the realm of nakedness. It was too late the door blasted open and my confessions were made known. Do with it what you will. I would rather be fully exposed than hide all of me from you. It is far better to say what is in the heart before you leave this grand sphere dwelling in places of nothingness, or regret. Who talks like that you ask? I do. I bare my soul to you. You who deeply penetrated me, scarred me with felicity and I have no regrets. The yellow door is open to you. Would you like to experience what is hidden behind the eyes that hold the key to the yellow door?

My cautions have faltered, my fears hold no power my glimmers can only force darkness to flee. Take me or leave me I have confessed. Steadily I come out of hiding, fully exposed. No need to hide, I am enjoying looking at my yellow door with you. Dare you enter holding my hand?” her smile cackled at the floundering fears that ran away like a scolded pup. Not sure if he was willing, she gulped, but filled with giggles. A song from The Doors filled her, and she bobbed her head back and forth singing:

“Don’t ya love her madly
Don’t ya need her badly
Don’t ya love her ways
Tell me what you say
Don’t ya love her madly
Wanna be her daddy
Don’t ya love her face
Don’t ya love her as she’s walkin’ out the door”

Flattering the room with frolicking gaiety, turning into his eyes soaking in the instant twinkling — manifesting a spin. He shook his head, his aura revealing blissfulness and utter terror.  As she beckoned with her finger casting an indestructible spell to come and see what was behind the yellow door.

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