Intricately Intimate

A Poetic Essay

nobody || somebody
2 min readJul 26, 2020
Photo by Maru Lombardo on Unsplash

I wonder what it's like to be the fly on the wall in our bedroom, watching us sleep in these cotton sheets dreaming of a simpler life before now. Entangled in the fine thread counts, our skin bare and the warmth of our bodies radiating against each other. My bare chest curled into the pillow as you hold my firmly in your arms, as though you’re scared to let go.

The sun peaks through those curtains, when the city finally awakes, we move in what could be a routined waltz. A movement that is made strategically through the bedsheets towards the bathroom, where hot water and steam stain the mirror until our hands glide across. Revealing our true selves.

The smell of burnt toast and well-timed coffee linger in the small apartment, the sounds of our thumbs tapping the screens of our phone almost fill the empty space that is made for our conversations. But as we sip our coffee and face each other, it’s time to walk out of the apartment, down the hall and walk down the flight of stairs and head our separate ways for the day.

When we return after a long day of scheduled conversations, hours of screentime and completed and drafted documents we are tired and finally meet halfway. One of us is home before the other, often in the kitchen looming over a boiled pot whilst the other walks in taking off their coat before finally asking ‘how was your day’.

The time spent making that spaghetti and eating it could’ve been the time spent asking why we are the way we are. The time spent washing away the red sauce from the dishes could’ve been spent reconciling over the small issues we face. The time spent contemplating about what to do now once we’ve had a shower and gotten into bed could’ve been spent making love.

But as we turn over to each other late at night, when the city noises tend to almost lower its volume, when the waltz has finished and the tapping of our screens has stopping. Your eyes meet mine almost sparkling in the darkness of the night.

Our intimacy is so intricate it’s almost never complete.

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nobody || somebody
nobody || somebody

Written by nobody || somebody

Deux ex Machina. And I have plenty to write about

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