Was her gasp audible?
It was impossible to tell when her senses were long neglected,
her pulse refusing to move,
her dead heart long since still.
Across the room,
he was gazing at her,
not a stare—not a leer—not a sneer.
His soft eyes appreciating.
Her heart stirred,
set her limbs to quaking,
the lonely years swept away on a zephyr of possibilities.
She took a step…
©May 2019, Christina Anne Hawthorne