Undefined Relationships, part one

He stands with his chest out. Not because it is thrust there, but because it must be filled with deep breaths and emphatic words.

Hair alive, askew, and up--his hands have run through the thick black mess too many times, in concentration and frustration--vibrancy in his veins, in his body.

Eyes that widen (liven) with interest, attention, conversation. That narrow softly with laughter, thought, and tiredness.

He wrings tenderness and intuition from me. I see him clearer than most, because his stance is mine, his breath is mine, his veins are mine, his laughter, thought, and tiredness, mine.

What is left for me?

His space, palpable, fills the room to smother me and to electrify me. Impassioned, stinging, and alive, I smile at him.

He does not smile back.