the smell coffee is strong. it has been raining all morning. i am scratching at the locks with my fingernails. i would sacrifice my teeth to be free. not but from my Newfound cheeks, gravity’s answer to skip yesterdays. not a cure or a different strain; the kitchen.
yes. there she is. Professor Cheekbones, even one night after, la profesora. bottle an open chiseled chin, beautiful ferocious. Rodin features. the Hand Of God pale cried marble; found art in human form. and i besides can see the ribbons in my own arms and white naked torso, bedpropped. things which all surround art become beautiful periphery. i no different. nice.
“How do you take it?”
“You look worried.”
“Just surprised to be here.”
“I thought you might be. What were you waiting for?”
“The semester to end.”
“Were you going to show up in my office on one knee or with flowers?”
“I hadn’t decided yet. I was waiting to see if the figure of authority was what was doing it for me.”
“Yes, a little. You’re- Still, the mentor to me.”
“That’s less about me than you.”
“I need you to be the mentor for now.”
“That I am, for now.”
>>perhaps<< when you are at one with the world there is no such thing as unrequited love. recognition is superfluous. Moresmile is longgone, Professor Cheekbones coffee cradles and rubs feet together at bed bottom. i could tell her everything. my Morning somewhere laughs what a silly feeling and says,
there is no longgone Sam anymore than Cheekbones are forever or present feet will but not roll under fallen house shoestolen. vain dreams are a laugh pat, Pet, and a pleasure to mirror. little shoes to step around almost everything but Dorothy and the coming of light mine.
“You’ve got something in there.” Cheekbones taps my temple and rests a hand on my chest.
“No. Not today.”
“I won’t be a mentor forever Sam.”
ah, but the words are coming; a smiling typhoon.
“I’ll be a student forever though.”
“If you’re lucky.”
the smell coffee sips and Moresmile memories stand in unison, no turnaway, no selective focus or lazetopast. sharp lines. clear thoughts.
i am the present present. Cheekbones finger tickles where the past knew but little chestnut dreams. my friends the Flights stand the windowstill, Cheekbones smiles to the question churps. they are used to my routine, kamble and kerp to expect me there. why here? i can hear them thinking.
because she wrote a little note. i wrote back. a little insignificant exchange took place. i thought about being a kid again and passing notes, but only a second. then it was a beaming face framed virtuous veil. i looked and didn’t understand. she was beautiful and caught i staring.
“Do you have plans today?”
“None worth keeping.”
living is ready made. every thought a pirouette.