Appointment
A shadowed lake Glowing pale brass through Black seamed trees Wood-backed bench Figure facing shore He waits His spine to me He waits For me to approach along the Narrow strip of gleaming grass To stand behind him To dare to place my hands Alongside both his shoulders But how can I draw near without Dissolving Where I stand? My clay mouth melting before my words Can brush one splendrous ear Fingertips singed Reaching He waits I long for him I cannot let myself be altogether Undone He waits
Gorgeous writing 💜
Aaaah can’t wait for that! Super excited to watch your journey unfold. I believe in you.
That spine turned toward her. That waiting. Rebekah, you've written the moment before the touch, and made it infinite. The unbearable geometry of desire. This is what longing sounds like when it's too big for the body holding it.
And that awareness you're carrying—that the Rebekah who writes "The End" will be different than the Rebekah you are now? That's not just true. That's the whole point. The novel isn't waiting for you to arrive—it's waiting to make you. Can't wait to meet her.
I'm so glad I discovered your work.