Top of the Ladder

We were huddled there for warmth,
under the beacon that always guides me to that place,
and even when our hands strayed under the blanket
his skin was merely warm where it should have been electric.

The touch was smooth, and pleasant, and meaningless.

And my only unspoken secret that night was that it’s over,
and done
and I’m finally okay with
everything.

Because in the magic of that moment,
it should have been electric, but I was grounded.

But even where I was susceptible to the charge,
even high in the rafters of the school,
a hundred and
twenty
feet
from
the
planks
of
the
stage
floor,
with our hearts in our throats
and our limbs trembling
with nerves and regrets and life,
when I should have been moved to hold him,
it was unromantic.

I thought more of soothing his trembling than of how to get him alone.
And that’s it.
It’s over.
We’ve broken the barrier,
and his gravity compared to the earth’s is weak.

His hold on me was weak, and I’ve long since broken it.
There’s no place like the top of a ladder to learn a lesson.