h.i.m.


His eyes flicker and glint over the muscular arm that holds the glass with the drink in it, tight little-boy curls following his head quietly wherever it moves. Above the dark of the centers of his eyes his forehead plays tricks on her, smoothing then pulling up around the face she never expected to love. Too chiseled a profile, she had thought, too fine of feature, too hard somehow. A nose to fit a face as well as his should be on another, as most noses reside that know their place. But, his so sweet remains in line with the rest of his face, a slight dip below the bridge and a soft point at the bottom, sometimes softer than at other times when he is in a certain character. And, his mouth she misses the kisses of as she will always since she has known them. His mouth, which shapes words carefully without hesitation, slowly and surely, at another moment curled bitterly in contempt or turned up in a kewpie grin, could once again reach for hers………….

.

in memory of shaun.

1995.

.

.

.

© Ruth Ann Scanzillo 1996.

all rights reserved. Thank you.

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