Under the bridges we sometimes heard the rustle of feathers disturbed, trembling coos from the concrete rafters above our heads, a vague scrabbling in the dry leaves nearby. Near the highway, cars sped past – headlights sweeping wide, radios full of rhythms and noise – voices and bodies going somewhere else, not stopping here.
Not stopping, with clasped hands, to duck behind a pillar, to climb a sharp embankment, to hide and seek, search and touch. Filthy walls behind my back, and the trickle somewhere of a storm drain emptying into the river; I clung to you. I clung to your solidity, your promise of change. You and your immaculate suit jacket, your every hair in place.
I was the lost creature you tried to save. With kisses, with lust. An overwhelming power in your gentle whispers, your fierce forward thrust. I ached and clawed for you, to have you closer, deeper, more a part of me. You lifted me high, offering all you had as yours, offering everything to me.
I could only take what your hands held and drag you down with me, beneath graffiti-scarred steel girders and the roar of the highway, nothing of my own to offer but the shape and the warmth of my open thighs. I pulled you in, muddying your jacket, our hearts beating hard, like the wings of birds.
Under the bridges we sometimes cried, with our watches ticking. You asked no questions, only made offers, and in those moments when you bared my breast to the air and lay your face there, your eyelashes sweeping feather-soft across my nipple, I felt the flutter of hope just under my skin, like the echo of a heartbeat.