When Cecily Lebeau couldn’t see him, he was
the infinite cosmos, he was
the split atom, he was
the empty space between molecules
and between stars.
Past peripheral, blindness and lack,
with and within the unfeeling wind,
and nothing more.
When Cecily Lebeau turned her head,
He watched without seeing
as she faded from the table,
rose oil and clicking heels and the hanging words
“I never want to see you again”
Her redwine hair stopped at the top of her neck,
her spotted dress at the top of her legs,
her stockings at the top of her knees, and
her boots at the top of her ankles.
They knew when to stop
and so did she.
The tattoo was somewhere in between,
cradling the top of her spine
at the bottom of her neck.
It looked like a smile
It looked like the reflection of a black sunset
(not a sunrise)
in a freckle-flecked flesh-coloured sea.
But more than that it looked like a closed eye,
toothy rays of lashes reaching down.
and it could not see him any more than Cecily could
when she faced the other
Thoughts of her caused his stomach to implode in
even weeks after.
He missed her like he missed
in Santa Claus.
Day 222’s three random prompt categories were, “A bad breakup,” “A strange tattoo,” and, “Written as a poem.”
Sort of based on an old story idea I really need to finish one day.