Finis amorum

He smoked a cigarette at length. She smoked too, blowing slow o-rings, and scratched her navel briefly, absent-mindedly. Her eyes were dark and sad, rimmed heavily with liner. Her heaps of dark hair, poorly pinned. Her mud-covered boots with tooled-leather roses. The faded blue of his irises focused ahead, into the cornfield distance. His dirty bleached hair, making odd shapes. His mud-speckled flannel with rolled-up sleeves. Once upon a time, I did love you, he said. I know it, she said, almost inaudibly. I know it.

~ by kingzoko on September 8, 2013.

2 Responses to “Finis amorum”

  1. I think I lived this exchange back in 1993. Or maybe it’s just the vicarious power of short, well written prose with evocative, nicely controlled images that makes me think so. Yeah, that’s probably it.

    • Why thank you! My mother told me this morning that she enjoyed it and grew sad after reading it, as short as it was. But, being my mother, she likes all of my stuff. Refreshing to hear some positive feedback from an erudite stranger. 🙂

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