Cave-song

“I’m not feeling like myself today.” Vanessa told her lover. “What do you say we finish the snow sculpture tomorrow?” She led her lover by the hand, through the eye of the needle and into the cave. “Are we safe here?” Her lover asked, still trembling from the cold. No answer. Only the beat: mud-lump, mud-lump, mud-lump mud-lump; tribes drumming and stomping. “Vanessa? Are you there? Vanessa!” Hands clasped. Grips tightened. Murmurs glowed in the dark. “Don’t speak.” The voice entered the ear like a needle. “You’ll wake the water colors.” The heart of the cave beat wildly. The space filled with sounds from the Light Ages. They rubbed their palms over the walls. They wanted to speak; they wanted to ask: Who painted these walls? Wash-tease or Sun-blast? Nudes. Cavewalls flaked and fell. Vanessa and her lover slept soundly.