He says my eye color is off. I don't say a word.
I know it's a drunken slip slurred. He begins
to siphon out the brown in them.
I want to stop him but I let him keep viewing me
through a set of past life eyes. His fingers brush
skin and paint her jawline on my face.
I watch his pupils dilate. They're stuck in spring.
He whispers, "You look beau...kind of like her."
Now, I understand my place. I am summer
and my body a transition for him to jump
into autumn. These bones are his carrier
this flesh just a rough draft to his voyage.
© 2014 Raquel Reyes-Lopez