Lonely-Artists

Taciturn She becomes the omniscient narrator for the classroom from the desk in the back of the class [and next to the window] Her long black hair is combed Her neatness being revealing how self-conscious she really is She carries no scent not of filth or of offensive odor  not of dove bodywash or perfume   not even of the mark of eve When I capture your fleeting glance I see the life in your eyes the millions of explosions behind your irises that tell me You are alive. A tiny glimpse past the corporal--past the dark circles of stress--past all things average about you but you look away... you say "g-g-gomenasai" Gomenasai for