Thursday, August 30, 2012
If we knew each other's secrets, what comforts we should find.
I would have added a question mark. Sandy Bay Road, Sandy Bay. July 2012.
"It's your EYES", he used to say. He said it a lot.
"I love your EYES."
"You have the most beautiful EYES."
"Your EYES are deep whirlpools of adorableness."
He might have lacked a good thesaurus, but he always seemed sincere.
However, his fixation on her EYES always worried her. Even during their most intimate moments, he would start and finish with them. He would start by kissing them, gaze intently at them right throughout the act and usually returned to them with soft and tender lips before rolling over into a deep sleep.
To be sure, he enjoyed the delicate cleft underneath her left buttock. He relished the suppleness of her pert yet full breasts. And yes, it was not unusual for him to dwell on the gentle curve of her waist or lightly tongue her right earlobe.
Yet is was always about the EYES. Even as he left, after he carefully packed away his collection of rare and valuable cactuses, he stressed - almost by way of apology - that "It's your EYES I'll miss most".
Because she loved him, and against all sense and good reason she still loved him, she could not bear to see him unhappy. So, with no little effort and with the assistance of a teaspoon from her mother's prized Sheffield plate silver service set and a pre-postmarked package, she set about giving him what he wanted most.