That Glorious Strand

That dark strand, that glorious strand that stuck wet to his forehead, underlined by eyebrows and almondine eyes. Brown like earth or the dark wood from an ancient tree all leading to the cave of his pupils. There was safety there, or danger. How could I know and why should I care when his regal nose fit so perfectly on his face.

The bow on his lips collected his natural dew. I watched it pool then drip as if to spare his tender lips. As if even the drops of his running sweat felt unworthy to touch them.

When he smiled, his whole face did and everything within me that could flutter, gurgle, bubble, or twist did, and all at the same time.

I handed him his ball back knowing my face was a flushed as his with only this wave of emotion to blame. With a nod he was gone and it was then that I finally exhaled.