Sunlight dapples across your lashes,
turns them to gold.
On a lazy afternoon where even the sun struggles to stay awake,
you move with all the world’s vigor to chase
a small rubber ball halfway down the path
and toss it back at me before I even realize you’re gone.
It barely grazes my cheek, and you know it.
I feign I’ve been shot with a poison arrow,
slain by a well-placed dagger,
and sink to the uneven cobbles with a melodramatic death rattle.
A laugh bursts from your lips before you can stop it;
soon, you remember your part and parade your victory.
First, however, your bare feet pad toward mine.
As you lean down, pretending to check for a pulse,
a slight breeze caresses my cheek
and with nothing more than a breath you whisper in my ear,
“You’re okay, yeah?”
I nod, imperceptible to anyone except you.
Celebrations finished, the battle won,
your callused palm rests on my shoulder,
squeezes for a moment.
A message. I know.
Glancing up to meet your gaze in the hazy 4 o’clock sun,
I reach over and squeeze back. You know.