In the light of those eyes.
In the slow turn sideways.
May this not be a gamble.
A chance meeting.
We stand frozen in the moment.
Waiting for the other to shoot first.
Breathing heavily,
as a great darkness unfolds.
Mist rolls through…..
A slow detachment follows.
Finger tips unravel swiftly.
Mouths open and shout.
“Here over there,”
someone screams.
Dead with uncertainty.
And I run, run into the grey.
December 8th, 2020 at 12:25 pm
Beautiful poem Sean