The Lovers

A woman asked her lover, “Which of my features do you find most mesmerizing? Is it my long, dark hair?”

“Yes,” her lover replied. “I am most mesmerized by your long, dark hair. From the very first time that I saw you, I wondered what secrets it might reveal — of your beauty, of your hidden pain. Now that we are lovers, I want nothing more than to bury my hands in it, to grab urgent fistfuls and tug at the root.”

“But what about my eyes?” the woman said. “Are they not alluring, too?”

“Most certainly,” her lover replied. “I could spend hours gazing into your eyes — hours upon hours, and more hours. There is a stillness I find there, but also a volatility. They are never the same color, from day to day, like the sky before a storm has arrived, menacing and beautiful at the same time. Your eyes cause in me paroxysm of desire.”

“But what about my lips?” the woman said. “Are they not worth a brief mention?”

“Your lips!” her lover replied. “How could I not mention your lips? I don’t believe there is anything more soft in this world than your pouty lower lip. And where can I find a curve more alluring than your elegant upper lip? Your dimples, the tiny gap between your teeth — I only wish you would loosen my chains, dear, so that I might kiss them over and over again.”

The woman sighed. “And I,” she said, “only wish you could make up your mind. If everything feature is my finest, then nothing is. Perhaps you should ponder for a while longer.”

So she left him there. Chained.