The King’s Head

She spoke, and words flew from her
like a breeze through the spring:
firm enough to mean and soft enough
to betray the suggestions she wished to hide.

Her cheeks were flushed and I imagined the blood in them
rise to accommodate her heart, in spite of her brain.
Her tensions were noted and understood.
Her silent maneuvers noticed and admired.
Her honesty whispered and cherished.

Gentle as the breath she breathed,
she ran a hand through her hair and left it
swaying by her shoulders.
Her movements matched my mental meanderings
in their delicate sense of purpose and purposeful sense of comfort.
And in a moment, she was gone.