When she saw him it was like lightning
like glissando, Sarasate, the universe rolling
back on itself to reveal — a snake!
She had heard it told that he was kind
others said he was evil, wicked
obsessive, reckless — there were many versions of him.
His expression. Was it sneering or benevolent?
Was he tall, muscular, of dark or sallow complexion?
Was he dressed in finery, a suit of armor
or was he naked, oiled as a door spring?
She could not remember.
As the lightning forked again sending
her into wild shivers of loathing or delight
she closed her eyes, allowed herself to sink
into a sea of clarity or confusion—
she didn’t care which.
All she could think of were his fingers.
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© Johnmichael Simon