Mirror Moment

Backstage. There is a moment, and it is electric.

Contour lines in the mirror.

You reach across and define my cheekbone,

our eyes meet in the glass.

(Or do they? Did I drop that in out of irrational emotion, out romanticism, idealism?)

the moment is electric,

    and like a spark disappears before

anyone else can notice.

You reach across and stroke my cheekbone with a dark pencil,

and examine your work.

I can do nothing but breathe,

   barely,

your canvas lives and breathes before your and so does her likeness, both stock still and struck dumb by the heavy fluidity of your presence.

There is a moment:

our eyes meet in the glass,

and when this image is recycled I instinctively smile-

so there was a smile in the moment?

You reach across and define my cheekbone

and there is a moment, small to you and small to me soon but insistently present to me now,

but there is a breath in which my eyes raise to your eyes, 

lowering to meet mine, and they 

lock. 

We pause, chaos around us, and everything is said-

    but I can't remember what. I don't speak that language, you spoke too fast. Do the words of your body finally make sense? 

Not that it matters; it is gone, it is over, it's done.

The moment passed and it circles for me only. 

Author's Note

It feels really self indulgent but the words sorta spewed onto the paper when I wrote it so I didn't want to make any changes- what do you think?

Reviews

[Rose of Gondor]

I loved it! It has an air of mystery around it and I love the way your words flow! I guess flow is what happens when words spew on to paper, eh? Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. :D