of green eyes and skipping stones

she was watching, black clothed, out
at the sea,
green eyes, she dreamed of skipping stones,
wore black gloves, prevented
the sea, it laughed a hollowed laugh, like a rich
boy with a bag of licorice 
gulls circled overhead, riding on a warm wind,
obedient to the updraft,
taunted her like heckling students with a 
school transfer
when she saw a sail or small boat, elation
ran across her face, 
obedient to fate;
slipped into a memory, like she slipped her
gloves on;
they skipped stones on a calm sea day,
kissed a long soft kiss
bare toes teased the water’s edge,
in their mailbox, a letter, waited patiently
like old buildings with lead paint
wait for small children;
perfect beginning, then lives halved with a 
letter opener, drafted
everything went silent
tears persisted, mascara
ran black, like stray bullet rounds through
glass doors
but slow motion,
watch the effect
his touch on her skin went ice cold,
she felt his injuries,
felt the bandages
the conversation between them, similar
to wayfarers passing
on a dead end street;
she stood by the sea edge, picked up 
a smooth stone
with one bare hand,
ready to skip,
then a halved photo,
wet and tired,
of her…
Copyright © 04/26/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®

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