There are waves on the river
and in the sky that
lap at the sunshine. She
doesn’t care what he told
the committee, or why he fought in the
war, she cares about the way that
he sweats and how he can describes
the tree and know that it
is ancient. She likes that
he can call centaur
with a whistle.
Her father won’t find
them this far south or know which
beach to come to, cross at the
right bridge, be able to walk on water.
…she looks at him and wants him to cut his beard, colour his eyes
06 Monday Apr 2015
Posted casablanca, nuns, paris, pta
in