The smile in your eyes

Weekly Writing Prompt #95

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The smile in your eyes is more than all the fame

in this sick world,

For I long left to others

the bitter taste of the fight

except the one for you, whose shadow

I will follow

to the end of time…

 

Image: Tucson Museum of Modern Art, Arizona

Daily Prompt: Third From the Top

Head to “Blogs I Follow” in the Reader. Scroll down to the third post in the list. Take the third sentence in the post, and work it into your own.

Quoting from: http://farawayinthesunshine.wordpress.com/2013/04/06/april-showers/

I picked up this third down the top, a lovely blog, a charming photo, I hope it also brings a smile to your heart :-)

#FiveSentenceFiction: Character

 The familiar objects on the desk reflect the feeble light of autumn: the shiny keyboard, the Pelikan pen, the notebooks, some photos of the past summer, and your portrait.

You are smiling, of the smile of a perfect avatar, as if this was the best that could be achieved, still, after so many pages, but not yet your entire self.

In silence I hope you will show yourself, your beloved face, those eyes where I wish to drown myself: the house is so quiet, and I cannot ignore those who have preceded you, the lineage of beauty…

Already I am typing these words, a timid effort at seduction, the slow approach of a shy pygmalion.

I feel the light air shimmer, the suspension of time in this room, I recognise your scent, petrified, I look in the direction of your chair: you have come, my only, my so-beautiful and so loyal character – and at this moment how I love you…

#FiveSentenceFiction: Scarlet

We met by chance, one of those city encounters, that usually lead nowhere.

But it was your dress, the colour matching your smile, the shape of you, suddenly more visible than if you had been naked: I looked at you as a photographer, then as a poet, then – yes of course – as a male who wanted you, who wanted to know and own that beautiful picture of a woman.

But no-one is to own you, for you are free and want to stay that way, you are no object, your beauty is for itself, and if you play, it’s on your terms, dress and all: there is no Pygmalion on your horizon, just you, and, cohorts of people like me – if only I had known.

So we walked, chatting, a close time capsule, oblivious of the crowd, of the trees, of time slipping, your voice as smooth as honey, the colour of your dress still holding me, transfixed.

“So”, you said with a bright scarlet smile, “are you sure you want to know who you have met, Doctor Faust? Then I will show you the other side of me”…