A Brief Encounter (By Winter)

“…And my eyes?”

“They’re…interested.”

“Not…interesting?”

“Both.”

I kiss her fingertips. Our eyes don’t break contact until she kisses my neck.

“You love me.” Neither a question nor a statement of absolute conviction.

“I do.” No question.

That was summer.

*

By winter we hoped to see each other dead.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s