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Glass Eyes
September 7, 2014
He forgot her name
at the foot of a dark pond,
playing cold piano spells
with the austere shingles
that palled the shore.
His mouth was ashen,
breathing wintry, taciturn clouds
out from his lips.
The velvet night resembled
the pigment of her obsidian tresses
he used to cultivate,
sowing seeds that lustered
like the stars.
Together, they'd walk on
black, silk waters,
leisurely tiptoeing across
like thrown stones,
holding hands with the moon.
But the pond soon froze into a
veneer of glass,
and the wake they left
had vanished.
© Lauren S., Reading, Berkshire, UK
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