Laughter Ceases

Laughter Ceases

 

Sometimes laughter ceases

after fingers brush your skin,

a not-so-clumsy,

not-so-subtle,

not-quite-so-accidental

rebuttal of this current state of,

or even manufactured distance between,

two idiots,

articulated in just a moment too many,

when laughter ceases

after fingers brush your skin.

Sometimes laughter ceases

with that little indecisive grin,

which warms the room and cools it

with its not-quite-certain

not-quite-over

not-quite-longing

anymore, remembering something

fractured—incomplete, or maybe just

unrefined to the point of non-existence

remembered only briefly

when laughter ceases

with that little grin.

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