She didn’t even notice your eyes.
I thought maybe she’d outgrown your face.
It was the first thing I noticed.
I remember asking her once
if they had filled the room as much as it felt they did.
If they had grabbed her too
by the coat and demanded their independence from the lousy rendition of brown.
The honey highlights had beaten me senseless.
Belittled and torn, my knees gave way.
And as I lay and beg for more,
you conceal your weapon.
And look away.
and she laughed
her eyes lacking the intensity of yours
And replied that they resembled a pot of the
darkest, blandest, and most bitter coffee.
I thought about your eyes after that.
James Bowie High School
11