Thursday, August 7, 2008
Fitz looked at her freshness not looking at him, but, he felt, ordained for him: one can fall in love with a face.
About her face, now in three-quarter profile, he failed in about-face, he drew in sympathy with the curvature of the ear.
After cunnilingus, he washed his face with a mechanic's abrasive soap so that no one will know where I've traveled.
When she withdrew and did not appear again, he couldn't look his own way, he had defaced himself, even in mirrors.
The feeling would resurface, as do an archaeologist's tells: slice the end of a mound and layer upon layer would produce findings, create the sense of history.