The Architect


I met an architect just like me.  His lips in their slight, silent, still pressing against mine were soft and fleshy—soothing.  Our touch was lock and key, familiar and knowing, his scent intoxicating allure slotted to my cells.  He smelled like inhalation after exhale, a need so naturally occurring and fulfilling, necessary.  Together we designed space and time, delineating boundary lines, designing layout and structuring aesthetics.  We strategically anticipated and crafted the reactions of the other, onlooker and outsider to the place we created—and to each other.  He knew just what to say, in the proper lighting.  I was an avid fan of cinema and literature.  Together we penned with steady hand at romance and sentimentality, made plans for the life of the building beyond the present drawings—to add life and depth to the two dimensional paper. We planned a life together.

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