dry…

She said pick a word that rhymes with grace.
He said race, space, ace, place.
She said no, choose one.
He said alright – space.
 
He conducted the air
to illustrate his choice.
She simply sighed.
He said okay, your turn.
 
She bit her bottom lip,
dowsing for blood,
then led his finger to trace
her eye, cheek, and lip.
 
He said oh, I get it – face.
His literal relief was 
her cataclysmic straw.
She lied yes, that’s it.
 
 
 

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2 Comments

  1. Andy on July 12, 2011 at 7:32 am

    This really moves me, gets down inside.
    I can’t work out what her word is, and it’s killing me!

    Is it “chase?”

    • thebeautifuldue on July 12, 2011 at 11:31 am

      Andy, thanks for wrestling with this one. In my mind, I saw her hoping he would say ‘you’ even though that doesn’t rhyme with ‘grace’…she was wishing he could stop being so literal and be more playful, bend the game a little, really see who is sitting in front of him, realize the beauty before his eyes…does that make sense?
      Anyway, thanks for commenting!

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