So it goes

There is no infatuation left to me that is more sveltely sinister than she. A cold life of comfort without passion portends my doltish desire, my urge to acquire her admiration, her embrace. I envy her pendant, brushing chilled against her body, clutched as she laughs.  I know my eyes linger too long, but she grants me this.  I hope.

I wish. A breath against the fey hairs of her skin that stand, caught by the sun.  A kiss upon her neck- it can’t happen. I am with a love, committed to love, left too full of love.  My approach would be an ugly thing, a stain I could not be rid of even in happier times.  Happier times as her companion, clutched to her as she moves. 

When she moves, she jumps and twirls, as if each step; each moment of stress or anxiety can be broken by jubilant joy- that fleeting feeling left up high as she lands.  To be held and to twirl, or to take hold and to guide, either would suffice. 

In her big eyes: the deep well of damaged beauty.  She was broken by the fall.  I cast a pebble, there are no sounds.  I cannot even whisper into the darkness that abounds.