Her, Blue

Standing in the pool, thoughtless. A breeze not stirring wet, blonde hair.
The sun warm on her slim shoulders, drying out the harsh, chlorine water.
Not even a ripple of the sky above, the clear death of it, moves her in this moment.
 A blank glass against the world, the death and cunning of it’s delightful lights
on the other side, in a world seperate from the quiet within her, in sweet repose.
Standing in the water, warm by the sun, and their harsh in the whippings of the sun.
 And then, it all comes back, what follows from her eyes and into her heart like a wound
unsutured and untended, that demands a bride price in peace of mind and quiet sleep.
She breathes in deeply, all the dry air, chemical smell so harsh, a deathlike arrogance.

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