"We were only laughing," Cleo said.
The fragrance of flowers anointed
her. Rain it seemed
had darkened her hair but
in fairness tightened
her curls.
"We?"
Esme(e) searched.
"Yes!"
Cleo was merry. She held
the brightness.
Elaine
was critical; she was tasked to break free
of irritation. Besides, she
rather liked the effect and the inner residue
not yet a glow but stimulating.
The
fragrance of flowers was all they could breathe.
Rose snapped her handkerchief enviable with Belgian
lace, "Better by far than
sulphur at the plays or the juice of chemical
flasks."
"Or the back end of a cow," Elaine
was helpful, Elaine was crisp.
Carrie blushed.
Violet laughed.
And Esme(e)?
Reluctantly Esme(e) withdrew her eyes from
where they ranged among the trees, to the distance.
Beat
beat beat went hearts while
Esme(e) focused those rich shadowed eyes like
loaded oils to lay the depths of ponds and secret folds of
anciently wooded clefts those piercing relentless
eyes loving too much hatchling
life excruciating how
all life is hatchling.
Eyess.
Far
away in the message of wet green
the black bull lifted
his nose, turned his liquid eye.
The women seemed not
to care.
Esme(e)'s vest was lavished with brocade, evenly
marked by ebony buttons and its pocket held
the ticking timepiece inscribed by the grateful
doctors of the university. Esme(e)'s
eyes took Cleo their blade fierce, tender,
perceptive, stripping.
Cleo
continued to smile clasping her hands before
her she stilled meeting
Esme(e)'s eyes; laughter remained in hers
and feeling vastly beyond laughter as
her wet bodice was beyond elevating such sculpted breasts.
Esme(e)
went to Cleo quick as
a cat, quiet, and raised a hand and held off
all distraction and
surely kissed Cleo on the lips. Liquidly
lowering arm and hand, fluidly continuing on the curve vectoring
Esme(e) faced them on the platform once again and
proclaimed:
"Honey
of roses."
Verdict.
Incontestable.