An impression of an ear

December 30, 2010 § Leave a comment

He lifts his head from her shoulder and there, perfectly reproduced as if impressed in wax, are the lines and folds of his ear.

They’d not meant to fall asleep like that. She hadn’t intended to stay that late; she had things to do, and she’s always so busy now, so much of her mind is always elsewhere.

This afternoon, though, she had time, and they weren’t going anywhere, not for a while. They’d declined family and friends, pushed the cold fresh afternoon aside and pushed themselves together like twin beds in a guesthouse.

She’s the first to stir, but it’s him who sees the clock – and the time.

However much time they have together, they always eke it out until those last moments when she’s rummaging for socks and he’s pulling his shirt back on and stealing a glance at her as she bends down for her trousers.

The impression on her shoulder will linger like the memory of the weight of his head, at least until she gets home, but unlike this temporary brand on her skin, the memory of the afternoon will keep on lingering and casting sideways glances throughout her evening.


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