The Neckline

She tosses the hair over to one side of her head. She pulls it down, strokes it, runs her fingers through it. She knows it gets my attention. She probably practices all the time. In the mirror. One of her stunts. Nevertheless, it's divine. She looks really good. I bet she's delicious, on the end of the tongue. The hair, crawling down one side of her head, the neckline on the other. The neck. Absolutely perfect, as I trace it over and over, as I fall into dreaming.

It's so smooth, like peaceful water, like swimming in heaven. Snippets of our conversation flickering through the mind. On the eyes she is. Her face. Your face. A face for I. The line of your neck, beautiful lagoon of skin.

She had no time to meet again for a little while. She would be out there, nearby, living her life, I would be doing the same, hoping for some meaning to fill up the days like water fills a glass. She was only a ten minute walk from mine. I had taken her home last night. We had collided, clashed, and communicated well. She was the challenge. She was words on a page that needed deciphering. The glasses. The eyes. The hair. The neckline. The riddle.

When she removed her glasses as I had asked her to she was beautiful. Yes. Exactly as she was when she had them adorning her face. Glasses are for seeing through, past, into the person wearing them, into the world outside.

So, there was a woman. A young woman with strong character and eyes to match. She liked other things to me. She had a way that was fascinating, to say the least. She had a neck that went on forever and long fair hair that like a rope gave me the chance to climb up, to try to find the bottom of that endless neckline, just so I could get on board. I could but try.