Eye Contact

Its dinnertime and I am so acutely in touch with my senses. I can feel the pulse of her eye contact. Can see the flutter in the blink, the lubrication that coats her corneas. Her lashes touch and drag against each other until their inevitable pull, the top lash...the only part of the body that seems unrestricted from the burdens of gravity. Hold. Don't let go of this parasitic grip that trips up the beat of my aortic fixation.

Contact lenses dress the tension of the 40ft gap. Im counting crows because I think she's "looking at you man" but its my inner gut and lapse of egotism that forgets I'm the best. Why should her eyes turn anywhere else? After all I'm on the back of the ball staring into her brain. What does she want?

Synapses void of time lapses stretches through the cerebral universe where I'd like to live. Give me a year, a week, a day - give me a note within her Beethoven symphony so I can play the matching tone. Eye contact is not enough, I'm burning for a touch like doctors lust to get a little closer. I am rapacious. It is embarrassing and all consuming. Im a festering maggot feasting on her lack of focus.

All this breaks in a second of fate and I cant take the mistake of looking again. She picks up her Virginia Slim, presses it against her lips, and she gone like a ship in the night. An overture of silence takes over. I'm the lonely man on a one-night stand and that beauty wasn't built for me. But, I was meant to see vile denial of another being who will never again catch my eye. Im Dantes hidden away making friends with a man full of treasures at the bar. Jesus Christo, monte christ I can't count the time any longer. Just give me one more second of eye contact and I am sure I can cure the world of loveless sight.

"Bye," she says.