Work Text:
Stagnant water.
A standoff.
A staring contest.
He sees the amber of her eyes in the sloshing fingers of bourbon; in the lacquered stain of boat wood; in the darkness of diner blend.
He sees it everywhere except in person. His empty, aching bed is just another place to drown.
And evening comes.
***
Stockstill.
A stalemate.
A suspension of disbelief.
His California hurricane swept away by an eclipsing Afghani sun; by a phone that never rings; by a pen that never scribes.
Sifting sand equates sawdust sentiments. Distance equates a wilted soul. Isolation equates a juried heart.
And evening comes.