Needle-bright

I'm going to attempt to respond in kind.
(Well, perhaps this evening I already have
though that's a different kind of affection
and says little about what you have done for me).
I'll have to cast my memory back further.

An evening spent slumped.
So many of mine are.
Your eyes needle-bright in the darkness.
Cigarette smoke drifting past my face.
Toxins of my choosing sanctifying the air.
My God, how grounded I was.

We removed ourselves temporarily.
Stepped outside of time,
outside of the circle.
How often we do this.
Entities capable of utter removal
and utter ability.
Something I've always admired.

I leaned over that wooden table
in that upstairs bar
surrounded by those that I love
and I said something fucking stupid.
Like, "We can't go on like this."

You drank me in.
I needed the flame, the affirmation, the consumption.
I looked at those needle-bright eyes,
desperately seeking something, anything
that would justify this leap of faith
this foolishness
this wanton attempt at solidity.

You gave me what I needed.
You never fail to give me what I need.
The stars shone upon me
(or not, for the memory is clouded)
and your skin shone a dull ivory
from the inside lights.

I named it love and love it was.
There, in that upstairs bar,
over that wooden table.
You burned me to ash
with that damnable half-smile
and those needle-bright eyes.

It was the tipping point.
It was inescapable.
It was a surrender.
But most of all, it was sublime.

You are sublime.
I fumbled for you.
Something slid into place.

Here we are.