she got used to writing about his eyes, the color of bath water and how she wanted to bathe in them, the poet's cliché.
until he left her and she realized they weren't pale purple or pale blue or translucent: they were stormy gray like a volcano with a flaring red rim similar to lava. each blink brought upon an eruption of mass proportions and he cried dark ashes.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 11:44 PM UTC
she got used to writing about his eyes, the color of bath water and how she wanted to bathe in them, the poet's cliché.
until he left her and she realized they weren't pale purple or pale blue or translucent: they were stormy gray like a volcano with a flaring red rim similar to lava. each blink brought upon an eruption of mass proportions and he cried dark ashes.
