About | RSS

Stung Eye

The eye of the bee holder.


THEY had just met.

HE, wearing suit, tie; briefcase in hand.
SHE, wearing flower-print dress, necklace; purse in hand.

"You remind me", says HE, "of you".
“So I am told”, says SHE, “by you”.

THEY begin to walk.
HE, holding HIS briefcase like it was HER hand.
SHE, holding HER purse like it was HIS hand.
THEY walk without speaking for some time. Hand in hand in mind.

HE opens HIS mouth to say something. Nothing comes out.
SHE sees HIS open mouth and it makes HER yawn.

s glances.

"Look!", says SHE as SHE points.
THEY watch as a crane lowers a steeple onto a now finished church.
“Complete”, says HE.

THEY play at being cranes. What fun it is to dream of strength and amazement.

"Do you think that you might love me?", says SHE.
“How can that be?”, says HE.
“Love at first sight”, says SHE.

Silence. Deep breathes. Pupils widen. Corners of lips curl.

"What does love feel like?", says HE.
“Like the opposite of a stomach ache”, says SHE, “only more pleasant.”

"I feel full", says HE, "but I think that is lunch."

THEY play at being lovers.

What fun it is to dream.

* * *

I wrote this over a decade ago and stumbled across it today while doing some digital house-cleaning. What fun it is to dream. :)