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"and we laugh like soft, mad children"
marrakesh reminds me of you: open and alive. your hand rests in mine and guides me through the packed streets. above us, the dark blue sky shivers with bright stars. around us, sellers hawk and spices fill baskets and bowls, nearly spilling from them as their scents waft and intoxicate. you'd made a comment about how morocco could make you drunk on its existence alone, but the mahia didn't hurt much.
ahead, jimmy walks with a woman he met this morning and they speak in a private, quiet language. i turn to you and catch your wide eyes, the lines leaking from their corners.
in another life, i imagine you were a prince.
"i'm looking forward to the food," i tell you.
with the movement of your head, your hair blows back with the wind. suddenly, you're much younger.
"ahh, of course. they have delicious meals there. sometimes i like to order too much just to take it home with me . . . pagey! take a left up here."
jimmy stops to smirk our way and brings us through an alley. lit with candles is the small restaurant you told me about. a hole in the wall that you've been to on every visit to morocco after the first.
we walk inside and the owner welcomes us, his arms outstretched. he's old like you, skin leathery and voice warm.
"robert," he shouts. "it's good to see you and mr. page. and who are these two lovely young ladies?"
i introduce myself and smile lightly. jimmy's tall companion gives her name and makes a comment in arabic. the man laughs in a shattering tone. he guides us to a table in the back with plush pillows and woven rugs.
we get our first meal, tagine, served steaming. it's how i wanted it to be, one dish for all of us and bread to share.
"go on, try it," you murmur, and watch me eat. the couscous almost drops from my mouth. i put my hand up and nod my head.
through a mouthful, i manage, "good."
you grin and rub my back. your image is cast gold and orange in the candle lights. your curls shine and the silk of your shirt glows before you turn and find the musicians playing in the corner, sat with their instruments, filling the space with vivid rhythms. for that moment, i disappear, until you face me again and gesture me up with you.
we stand. in the middle of the floor, to the beat of the animal-skins, you dance with me. your hips move with all the luxury of your youth and you bring your hands together, clapping. i match you and start to laugh at it all. we spin around one another, our bodies brushing, and you have no other motive than joy.
my heart calls. you tilt your head and the bare skin of your neck teases. like the first time we spoke in the parking lot of the theater, your figure turns. this time, there are no streetlights and impatient drivers, only you and me. i don't have to guess if this will be a one night stand because you tug my arm and my scarf flutters. like the pinned butterfly, my wings are spread. i breathe your soul and it smells like saffron.
