Sunday 25 August 2013

six different ways since sunday

The dreadlocks were thicker than fingers, and held by silver and gold rings in various outcroppings from his nappy, happy, pretty head. He told her the stories behind the various rings. Each story was like a gem. She listened, intently.

His caribbean roots surfaced as a generous smile in the eyes, which beamed out a distance equal to the length of the island of Barbados. She must have seen him six different ways, since sunday. And he always had a smile for her. Even if he was locked in the turmoil in his mind. Behind those beautiful, open eyes.

Rolling up on a week, maybe two, of much conscious contact between the two.And maybe a screw, or maybe two. What with a screw or two loose... what's new ? The world perpetrates the sanity. Yet the dreads were somewhere for her eyes to lay easy. Blurred into an single aura. A home for a while. In a smile the length of Barbados.

Wrapped around a light beam. She wanted to let the world and everyone, know. She wanted to unravel the whole, sweet cinammon bun. And he could have her; for breakfast, lunch and dinner. She was content to just walk down to the farmer's market by the grande lake theatre, saturdays, by his side, holding hands.

 Still, the essence of him could hardly be touched, and not by holding hands. Whatever was going on, was all condensed and rolled up from basic filaments. Though she felt the warmth of the sunshine of his spirit for some time, now, no defenses run so deep to hold the world off. They would not last long.

She was sad to watch it all pass over her,  like the sun across the sky. Then a somewhat fiery, diluted, orange ending. And so close to halloween. Less than a year since they met, and no time in between.

Embedded (below the horizon)...
Dreaded (came the darkness)...
There, now  (she knew it)
it's over  (she said it).

Katya W. Mills 08/13
originally written in 2009-10