Gaze

You grab the blanket, I grab the music and make our way outside and outback. We go out into my yard, the air warm and fading sunlight stretching to the horizons. The grass is prickly but between lying on it and the thick cover you hold, the sharpness will soon flatten out to comfort and peacefulness.

You undo the corners, grasping two of them and your back arches as you fling it over the ground. The pillow is tossed neatly to the side fringe and you kick off both your shoes and socks. You fold your legs and proceed to stretch yourself over it, lying so that you hit opposite edges.

I do the same, flicking off my flip flops and join you on the blanket.
The stars are coming out, you say.
I know, I reply, they're lovely.


I'm bombarded with remarkably calming smells: freshly cut grass, the heavy and heady scent of the air as a promise of rain reaches the margins of our relaxation. The smell of you reaches my nostrils also and I am reminded- no, flooded- with small shivers that have naught to do with the outside air.

You are taller than I so my feet do not quite reach the edge but where the cuffs of my rolled up jeans touch you, I smile. Things are so comfortable here, mere inches away from you.

Satisfaction is a word that first crosses my mind and my eyes as I turn my head to look at you. You are instead looking at the sky but I see your eyelashes bat up and down, starting at the sight of the stars and how majestic they really are.

Your hands move behind your head and form funny triangles on either side of your head, you turn and look at me.

Always. You say.
I just smile.

I put my head into the centre of the triangle and you smile in turn.
My eyes turn to look back at the stars and I see.