Sunday, 23 December 2012

The traipse and the truce

I liked her best in the morning, as she came down for breakfast, in pastel, in red - a delectable assassin from the Mediterranean. I'd like to say she came from Israel, a fighting machine, coiled and poised.

The delicate run of light along the ridge of her nose. The gentlest dance, a sway. A tilt now, slight, of her face - even pretending to read! The drama was definite, and this play real.

'Don't smile at me like that, you'll kill me'
She threw her back and laughed, laughed and perhaps killed me just a bit more.
'I'd ask you to marry me, if I thought I had a chance'
'Why don't you?'
'For the pleasure of being turned down? Why not then?'
'Seduce me. You think that might be easier?'
'I think it would be hard to love you. I know this.'
'Love and forgetting, both are hard.'
'I'll always have one hand on the devil, eternal angel.'