Limbs contract
uncharacteristically. Veins run
suddenly warmer.
Her mind returns
after sixteen years
of being too
S – L – O – W.
What else could he say when she
showed up at his door?
Panting and beautiful emerald
irises weary with
motion.

(Someone forced her into that human mold so long ago.)

“Has it been
sixteen years?” he
pretended to ponder the movement of time
as she pleaded with her jeweled
irises. Some kind of
lonely goddess
on her knees.
Her blood ran cold
when he asked if she
desired to be planted
in his gardens, overlooking
the stream.

He asked if she would let her
fingertips drag through the
undertow, touching the water’s edge
like graceful rays of sunlight. He asked
quietly,
his face impassive
hiding a torrent of emotional
daggers behind his
irises. Some kind of
angry forest fire
raging above.

She asked to stay
planted by his side,
stretching her body along the length of
his.
There was quiet disbelief in his
irises when she reached out to touch him
for the first time
in sixteen
years.

::mina::