"Visions of Ami" by Desslok

-----------------------------

I enter the room and find her sitting on the sofa. Her legs are

crossed daintily at the ankles; the tops of her soft white socks

rub gently against each other. A notebook lies on the folds of

her blue skirt, which has drifted just a little higher than she

would like, if she were paying attention to such things. Her

flawless skin glows between the white and the blue and I ache to

touch her. She looks up. She always looks up. Her glasses have

slid down her nose slightly and she considers me over them. She

smiles slowly, her eyes soften, and my heart melts for the

thousandth time.

-

She's grown used to me finally. Having lived alone for so long,

I am not accustomed to sharing a bathroom. At first, it would

alarm her when I would barge in on her while she bathed or

showered. I did not mean to disturb her privacy, but I also

didn't hurry to leave. Now, she accepts it, as she accepts

everything about me. As I stroll in, I am blissfully unaware of

the delights that await. She is just rising from the tub as I

notice her presence. Small bubbles cling to her body. Water runs

slowly to the floor. I can see the taut muscles normally hidden

beneath her skin as she reaches for a towel. Ever mischievous,

her eyes twinkle as she regards me, lifting the towel to her damp

blue hair. I can only stand in awe as she draws the thick cloth

across her chest and arms. She lifts her delicate foot to the

edge of the tub, turning her leg slightly to tense her calf as

she slowly, ever so slowly, runs the towel down to her toes. I

am lost, unable to withstand her. She is Beauty and Grace and I

feel unworthy of her, until her eyes find mine. Then, everything

is all right.

-

There is a bandana covering her head, replacing the deep blue

sheen of her tresses with pale green. Strands of her hair leak

out around the edges and over the knot she has tied, tiny blue

flowers dotting a gentle green meadow. I can see the light

glimmer of perspiration as she raises the rag once again to clean

the streaks on the window that overlooks our yard. I pause from

my sweeping to watch her, seizing the opportunity to do so

unnoticed. Each motion of her hand is precise, geometrically

perfect as she herself is. Her fingers press the cloth to the

glass and I wonder how such slender, nimble things can contain so

much strength and power. I quiver at the thought of what they

have done to me in the past and find myself momentarily

distracted. My gaze follows my thoughts, drifting downward.

I've suggested she get some new work clothes but she cannot bear

to part with her denim shorts, no matter how frayed they are at

the edges or how tightly they hug her body. Geometric precision.

The sweeping has stopped and a sigh escapes my lips even as I

look up and catch her staring directly at me, her gaze capturing

mine in the clear glass. She turns her head to regard me over

her shoulder; her eyes smolder and I am hers, again and forever.

-

I see her every day. Some days, I see her for the very first

time, all over again.