A willing captive gripped tight by her eyes, steely, grey and sparkling bright in love I watch her talk, a loquacious fluence, and study her lips like a foreign language
"your attention is slipping."
"not at all."
"well," she begged "haven't you ever been in love?"
I must have been surely, I think or something more akin to time standing still, the sands sculpting a moment of a thousand lifetimes.
"of course I have."
"where is your love now?"
right here, I think chronic and immutable, boxed into lines, safeguarded and sound in dreams and reflections, vicarious, a farce of mimicry.
"well travelled," I would say.
"like blood from a stone. well, I'm glad you came, will you come again?"
and she went, leaving me with a pocketful of sand.