Two Eyes Cenote claw & silt

When it is over her eyes are full of terrible confessions and her floor is sown with abandoned tresses in red and black; the debris of her pursuit. She cannot look at him but watches a pulse in his leg, the evidence of a heart matching her own thrumming beat.

For a moment there is only the cadence of them alone in this room, an intimacy she would taste twice; now, and in retrospect.

But he would never be her’s, and when he was gone she would be alone again with everything she could not say.

“You’re not empty,” her voice punctures the stillness. He had to know it.