She stares afar off, as if in a trance.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says, curls a lock of hair behind her ear.
She tries, but doesn’t know. Thinks, but her mind is empty. She likes it when everything is blank. When the anger and the hatred of the world can’t touch her. When all she has is the blue in the sky, the green in the grass, as she imagines them. And him, lightly pecking the bone of her shoulders with his soft butter lips.
“I love you,” he whispers. She’s waited thirty years to hear those words, since the last time she’s looked at the sun. Though she can’t see his eyes, she pictures them as they were at fifteen, pools of aquamarine, dripping with affection.
She turns her head and finds his mouth. Sends her tongue searching as the silence descends, as the air cools.
“Look up,” she breathes, kissing the lids of his bare eyes. “Look up and see me.”
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It’s your eyes that I remember.
Thick lashes that curl toward heaven,
that kiss the delicate skin
of your cheeks—like a breeze—
when you blink. Your eyes that hold
sadness and light. Loneliness and
hope unconfined. Gaze into mine
and see the lifetimes forgotten, see
our souls swaying together on stage
to the low rumbling threads on the
string bass. Your eyes are a defiant
love poem; they wince at visions
of settling. One man cannot possess
them—they shift with the tides
of the sea, patterned to the moon
phase. Break these chains of idolized
attachment. Open your eyes. Illuminate
my deathlike night. I can never claim
ownership, only the desire to see
your eyes smile one last time.
Today is the last Wednesday in June, which means this Saturday I will begin my journey to completing my novella, Love Poetry, for Camp NaNoWriMo!
Every Wednesday, I’ve been posting a poem that will serve as an introduction to a new chapter. Seeing that we’ve come to the end of my planning sessions, this poem will open the final chapter of Love Poetry, in which Jessica and . . . well, I won’t ruin it for you, just know that it is quite different from how my A to Z Challenge ended in 2015.
If you haven’t noticed, every poem is written by a character in the story— Jessica, Whitmore, and Bruce, the three parts to our love triangle. Can you guess who the poet is for this one?
If you missed the previous poems, check them out below:
Chivalry is Dead
Your Love is Like Jazz
Stay tuned for a post explaining what will happen with the blog next month while I’m away camping. I promise you’ll be in for a treat!
Rain never falls straight down. There’s always a gust of wind slanting it eastward, rendering the umbrella useless and blurring my vision as tiny water droplets fill my spectacles. I wish I could wear contacts, but my eyes pick up this incessant need to blink whenever something comes too close— fingers, eye drops, corrective lenses. Eye doctor visits are dreadful. Must he shine that light so brightly in my eyes just to see the back of them? And what is up with that eye pressure device? You could gouge someone’s eyeballs out with that thing! No thank you! I’d rather have glaucoma. At least then I’d have a medical excuse for the bud I smoked this morning, though maybe not the proper paperwork. Have you ever noticed that some of your best ideas come when you’re high? I’m actually thinking about inventing windshield wipers for glasses. I’d call them . . . FrameWipes! Better trademark that. Wouldn’t want some straight-faced, sober CEO with a six-figure salary and no creativity to back it up stealing my idea.
word count: 173
Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers is a weekly challenge where you write a story in 100-150 words (give or take 25 words) using the provided photo prompt as inspiration.