the things you say part 4

the things you say part 4

I hang my coat onto the back of my chair. it has parts of me intricately, intimately woven into it. my moisture, tiny flakes of skin, sweat, scent, bits of me. i am hot. i remove the layers, three maybe four and i hang the coat, well worn, well loved, never cleaned, moulded almost to the shape of me, i hang it on the back of my chair. it is my chair. i sat in it first. i placed my bag by the side of me and plonked arse first, down, nestled into the moulded plastic, rested weary into it. mine. i brought my bad mood with me, my lack of integrity, my misery. my coat, hung on its back named it. it named it, mine. i supped coffee from a cardboard cup, through the slit hole at the top, in the white plastic lid, as i sat. i sat and sipped in a chair made mine by my coat.

it is busy in the room, can you see? it is full of us. us lot. we are looking, we are talking. it is quiet, then we speak, mostly one at a time, an interjection, possibility, thought.

all the chairs are taken, occupied, on the right side, which is my side, where my chair is. there are some over the way, not too far, just over there, under the window.

i say, to you, cow eyes, brown eyes, i say, i have to go for a bit, a short bit. I'll be 5, maybe 10, yeah, 10 at the very most. i slide the door open. i take my leave. i don't look back. i want to. i want to see if your eyes have lingered upon me, for a wisp of time, for longer than they should, for longer than eyes that are not interested would. but i find a resolve not to and walk swiftly away.

i am hot. i leave my coat, the marker of my territory, i leave it behind. i head off. i do what i must and after a belated amount of time, i return. i open the door and there you are. sitting there, sat there, sat in my chair. my chair. you rest back against my coat and i know bits of you, bits of me pool together and make bits of us. i wonder at the scent of you, mixed with me, there in one place. i want to lean past you and inhale, but resist. i am inside the door, you are sat in my chair and there is no where for me to go, not now. the show is on the road. i cannot walk across it.

you are sitting in my chair. do you see? chosen to sit there, where i was. it is lovely. i slide onto the table just there at your right. we are close. so close. is it intimate? did you choose this? i can breathe you in. and i do. i lean, lurch forwards and let myself rest in the warmth that rises from you. i suck you in silently, and then you are of me. For a minute or two it is just as though i am at school, brushing in passing against a boy that i like, that likes me. So close, so accidentally close to one another, both ignoring, both knowing. I breathe and know that when i next pull on my coat particles of you, scent of you, skin falling from you will be invisibly close to me. Lucky me.