This is about a girl I met at an art gallery opening. At first, her eyes were the most staggering thing about her. And then I found out about her hobby...
She had grey eyes,
like the women in novels,
translucent,
soft blue and not quite emerald green,
a moody ocean,
yet very still, quiet,
alarming,
terrible,
and emphatically beautiful,
we met in an art gallery,
eccentric twisted abstract paintings,
full of color,
of chaos,
explosions on the well-lit walls,
but only distant stars to me,
fading and dull,
obsolete reflections in the glory of those eyes,
she stops me at the door,
Is that a K-bar beneath your jacket?
Just a Bowie knife, I explain,
Do you skin with it? she asks,
and I am lost,
sent tumbling down the metal-grey corridors of her gorgeous eyes.
02.4.10
like the women in novels,
translucent,
soft blue and not quite emerald green,
a moody ocean,
yet very still, quiet,
alarming,
terrible,
and emphatically beautiful,
we met in an art gallery,
eccentric twisted abstract paintings,
full of color,
of chaos,
explosions on the well-lit walls,
but only distant stars to me,
fading and dull,
obsolete reflections in the glory of those eyes,
she stops me at the door,
Is that a K-bar beneath your jacket?
Just a Bowie knife, I explain,
Do you skin with it? she asks,
and I am lost,
sent tumbling down the metal-grey corridors of her gorgeous eyes.
02.4.10
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