To See Through Eyes Unclouded
By Sara Richards

Here I lay, beside a lover lost long before we broke up, wallowing in the lyrical glory of Train and Savage Garden, songs like soap to my soiled soul. She reaches over to me and rubs steel wool over the tarnish, scrubbing away all the pain she caused me. But the blackened ash remains, and I don’t think it’ll ever go away. Barely tanned fingers intertwine with mine as our eyes clash, black gold on sea green, and she reminds me of the sun glinting off polluted surf, and our hearts become the flotsam and jetsam of her ocean.

Rough-hewn fabric over soft, pale skin which I taste with slightly chapped lips, finding a way to love each and every freckle. Smoke wafts from a half-burnt stick of incense, caressing her skin before my eyes, like some sort of defiant ex-lover, bent on gettting under my skin and into hers.
With an annoyed sigh I blow the smoke away, then set my lips to her skin once more. Her breath comes short, causing the residual smoke to swirl around the mouth it retreated to, caressing lips I had all too recently kissed. Not lifting my eyes from her body, I catch one of the carbon monoxide demons, crushing its smoky body into oblivion.

Our eyes meet once more, and before I tear mine away I indulge in a moment of emotional masochism, thinking back to a river, a bed of grass, and two fishing poles. Then I break our gaze and rest my head on her abdomen. She runs her pale fingers through my thick, oily hair, laughing a little as I blow my short bangs out of my face. I start to smile, but a flash of memory kills the action before it can show.

With a pained sigh, I brace my hands on the bed to either side of her body, then push up, slowly, flexing my naked arms and abs for her enjoyment. I sit up, straddling her body, then lean down once more and kiss her lips. I break the kiss, and only now do I allow myself to smile. I roll off of her body, off of the bed, and pick my shirt up off of the floor. Before I pull it over my head, I allow our eyes to meet and a half-smile quirks my lips. “Always a pleasure,” I mutter, and she nods, red-gold tresses falling into her eyes.

“Good night.” The words are a half-whisper, falling from her lips like broken shards of memory.

“Sleep well,” I say back, my voice rueful bordering on sarcastic. Then I turn and, in a flash of dark blue cotton fabric, am gone.