the look of love; june 19th on the porch at night by the light of twinkling bulbs.

i catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror as i stand and re-adjust my jeans around my waist. my hand goes instinctively to smooth the fly-aways of my honey-colored hair. i dare, for a moment only, to imagine that my long locks are actually quite pretty. honey-colored. i imagine walking back into the office and my husband looking up from his computer carelessly only to be enraptured by the sight of me. "darling," he says breathlessly, "i am so lucky that you chose me. sometimes i can hardly express how beautiful you are to me; your slender waist and silky, honey-colored hair." suddenly, he is next to me, fingering the irresistible follicles.

rather, suddenly i realize that i don't really want him to say such things because i would laugh in his cheesy-cheese face and not believe a word of it anyway.

what i really want is a lingering look. to catch his eyes on me when I've been unaware, as opposed to when i stare him down and then nonchalantly return to the task at hand, moving extra seductively when i think he has glanced my way. a look is all a wise woman ever really requires from her man. it would communicate all the desire and appreciation needed without bothersome words in the way.

words...there are only so many of them and they've already been used in the usual pathetic combinations. did i say pathetic? i meant poetic. being original can be such gut-wrenching pain.

but a look? that is truly unique...
unique to the relationship;
the moment and the feelings therein;
the face...
the eyes themselves are entirely one of a kind--no two people can offer the same soundless expression.

i want him to leave the words up to my fantastical imagination and just...
stare:
unhurried,
enduring,
entirely,
occupied by nothing but that one task.