Origami

His hands straighten out the curling edges
and he folds it carefully in half,
then into fourths.
His fingers move, touching and pressing
and he pushes on the creases,
avoiding the points.
I sit with my legs crossed and watch
as his eyes focus downward,
dilated and fixed.
My hands fold across my lap and rest
as his move and work diligently,
cautiously pinching.
My fingers intertwine together –warm,
and my heart is thumping,
thrusting about.
​My blood rises and I forget to breathe
as he makes another fold
and flips it over.
My chest hitches and my face is hot
as I try not to look at him,
but I risk a glance.
He leans forward, his shoulders tense
and I see he’s anxious
as he presses.
My shoulders grow stiff, my palms sweat,
and I don’t want to go,
but I get in the car.
His voice is soft and it trembles a little
as he says the words
that I want to unfold.
My hand is cold as I hold my phone
and music is playing.
There are stars out.
His entire world is an origami crane
and there is nothing
I don’t want to unfold.