The Open Room

An open room, rustling with hushed voices
White noises
Tapping and clicking,
And then,
The sound of something
Like a cymbal crashing,
Water cannon rushing,
Thunder rattling
The window panes --

Silent to everyone else in the room except me.

In such moments one can only focus on
The continuation of breathing,
Looking collected,
Appearing on point and on guard
To those around
Watching and listening.

But all I wanted to do
Was break through the brick walls
The shuttered windows
The buzzing and rattling noises
The fixed gazes of other eyes
And

To breathe in the scent attached to the
Warm skin of your neck
Like salt mixed with amber,
To taste the feel of your mouth
In the open air, in the heat of the late morning sun,
With the wind softly wrapping itself around our bodies
And holding us tightly together, so
Nothing could wedge itself between us

As so many things were doing so in this moment.