Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review as well as other publications. Most recently, my collection “In Absentia,” was published in August 2021 with Silver Bow Publishing.
She is free sitting in the convertible relaxed in the swift breeze of sixty mile per hour rushes. Trusting with every element of a life she offers to him she smiles eyes closed as her strands float. When she might shy away from strangers now she abandons all inhibitions glad he can contemplate her entire She needs not hide the breasts with a fist nor cross those naked legs with a padlock feeling his eyes upon her she sighs with joy. She might be nude as she may wear an armor bearing her soul with complete abandon she is the Amazon body and spirit. Reclining in a semblance of sleep she feels the infinite touch of a gaze a Transcendent shroud to her being. Revealed to the eternal on the leather of a Sunday joyride the contentment of a lifetime fills her with an internal glow born with the stars.
The bed was of cheap foam before an armoire of composite particles a night table in light blue plastic and a candle burning in his only luxury. He had made wallpaper of animal photos gathered in the glossy pages of stolen magazines taped on the virgin plaster in haphazard leaning as if they were to sink into a forgotten sea. In the balmy night of long-gone Augusts oversized French windows gaped into the unknown dreamer he could not sleep with the haunting chant of that perpetual owl and her ominous voice. Little makes sense in those impossible days endless summer so long awaited and little dreams of a diminutive child might he at last find rest in his troubled land. He knows that tomorrow again he will pretend spend hours at play with the games of life grown-ups loathe with every pulsing vein so old in his preteen moments he might be their creator.
The chair rocked softly in the last hours fog slowly lifted above the crumbling abode steam from a gentle aroma arose to an old soul his eyes pierced a dream in the greater distance. Memories floated random within a weakened mind his aim to cling to those uncertain shapes grasp at a moment not yet erased from his hopes if only he could take a step to a precious instant. The warmth of the comforting nectar dissipates subliming into what he may wish to be a gray heaven trembling with the confusion of remaining heartbeats if only he could once again perceive her touch. A drop slips from remnants of a strength now gone he withdraws behind the walls of a wrinkled shell knowing well that this is where all things must end soon, she will touch him, cold as ice, into the ground.