THE HIDDEN TRACK

The following passages are dedicated to Leopold, to the vernacular, to certain evil women (you know who you are), to certain wonderful people(they know who they are), to soft afternoons and quiet Sunday evenings, to Fall and seeing your breath for the first time since Spring, and to Isabelle Ya Feng ... a soul slipped by like two ships passing in the still, moonlit sea.
-- Abraham Ahmed, the Surfing Beatnik



Spoken Jealously...

Fascinated and docile, as your eyes radiated at the commonplace items he noted.

You turn and take his hand in yours and secure his straightened bicep with your opposite.

Not an embrace but a forward bend, subtle, almost unnoticeable into his shoulder.

He eyes the ground and rephrases a passage.

A collar is adjusted as he turns to gather a reaction...

Your face shines with an afternoon glow, eyes skipping to each of his in left and right motions of affections counted as grains disperse.
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