two, unlovable dogs

Two unlovable dogs lay side by side in a car. 

I didn’t take you home. Instead, I asked you to stay — to sit still with me in silence. And for an indeterminate amount of time, we did. But for how long, I cannot say.  What happens before silence and after it cannot be predicted; it cannot even be written down; that feverish pulse between two warm bodies, a murmuring drumroll of what if, perhaps, maybe. In the silence, the body goes where it must. 

Two inarticulate dogs go quiet in a now secret-laced street, desperately in want of something they cannot name.    

I could hear you thinking, so I closed my eyes to tame myself in hopes of taming you — silence desires synchronised hearts, or at the very least, fragility.  I wanted to show you that this wasn’t a game for the senses but a way for one body to inhabit the world of another’s; show me what slips your mind, tell me nothing, go beyond our hearing, show me how much you love the night and being with yourself — I want to know what it feels like to be alive in the darkness. I am disappearing into you, somehow closer and farther away. I feel very okay, and that’s more than enough for me to keep going.  

For tonight, two dogs with nothing left to say go into the night and love each other...without a word between them, without needing to beg for it. 

When someone begins to understand you in the silence, I don’t believe it stops.