Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Love me with your Eyes Closed


She looked to me with jaded eyes.
Short, silky, moving hair: to left: to right.
She explains but I don't listen.
Lips: moving.
Gaze: lowered.
Ebbing.
Neck turns.
Eyes: close.
Eyes: open.
Eyes: close.
Close.
Close.
Yes, she loves me.
Close.
Close.
Eyes: open. She loves me not.
She looks to me with nothing in her eyes.
Cold.
Discrete.
Warmth: gone.
--What's wrong?
Sweat on her forehead dimmed by the shade.
I'm in the light.
We must change places.
She is not under the tree.
She is looking to the river.
--Isn't it beautiful?
Yes, it is.
She doesn't know she isn't smiling.
Breeze: violent.
Lips: chapped and bleeding.
--No, i'm fine. It's nothing. . .
Her eyes look softly to the river. . .
I'm standing in the shade, beside her, now.
The two sides of her face add up: perfectly: symmetrically.
Yes.
--We should go. . .
Yes, yes. We should go. . .


Brian Gonzalez

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