She had a way, a view.
A look.
She regarded.
She sometimes started a word, a fragment of a sentence and then would smile and stop. She wouldn't let it out.
She had mischief, fire. Character. A weakness for bourbon and proximity...her protests were easily eroded with a well-placed kiss and a clutch of her tailbone pulled towards me.
She had a laughter that revealed...high pitched if truly amused, low and throaty if being polite. She spoke in a southern tongue and let words emerge only if allowed.
She played with her hair, fussing at the ends, making sure the strands were straight. Nobody, really hardly anybody knew that when wet they curled and they were natural.
He was so very pleased he knew such a thing.
She, despite her so infrequent words, conjured up billions...the ways she walked, a slight lean forward as she sped her way through life...the way she picked at a salad...applied gloss to her already softened lips. The way she put up a glaze that said she was all business...
She was layers.
She loved the beach...loved the sand. She loved the arc of a sun, the glimpse of a moon...colors in-between. She remained.
And every so often, when I could find her...join her...and I caught that stare of hers...when she was melding alongside of me, a folding of limbs and I could feel her heartbeat and I could hear the hitch in her breathing...I held crushed in the stare of hers...unblinking, unstopping, consuming me and penetrating me to hold onto her, be into her, and stay with her.
It was palpable...
mostly remembering it as she was departing, when her brief stare glanced against me and was soon looking to where she was going.
No comments:
Post a Comment