Sergei Color

His study has a memory. In the bookshelf the is kept all his yawning;

his breath on every page of every book. The chair holds all his sadness;

the arms his tears, the back his heaving sighs. The mirror holds his smiles,

his brow lifted by its wooden frame. The desk is keeping secrets;

held down by the paperweight, kept bright by the lamp. His pen sits quiet,

feeling heavy with the weight of knowing who he loves,

who he needs to feel safe.

The coat rack is carrying the largest load of all.

On his arm hangs the coat that leaves the study.

The coat is a traveler. He knows what nothing in the study knows.

He alone stood watching and waiting for the sled.

In his pocket the blossoms lie dying.

On his lapel only a faint memory of lily and rose.

He alone has touched her.

He alone to hold her.

There he hangs with solemn knowledge.

The others wait to hear, but live to tell.

They will tell L---- who he is,

but the coat alone knows who he is to be.

Arcade Fire

Sergei

The Worst Taste in Music

There stands the mirror, clouded with anticipation. You sense the supple lily note laced in the mist; cool glass bottle in hand. It's soft like your pillow, yet stark like the passion of the one eye you can see reflecting off the surface.
So you inhale and remind yourself that he loves it. You see the rise and fall of your chest as breath escapes you. Lean forward and capture the condensation in the cup of your hand; let it run from your fingers to your wrist. There you feel it, there you see it. Smiling back at you is the reassurance of fidelity
He wouldn't dare.
So you race down the stairs at the sound of his keyring. He looks honest, he smells clean. With hands scrubbed white you seize him and bestow your ritual pleasure. Let it be known dearest.

A kiss is half promise, half warning.