A metaphor

“What was your favorite poem you read for today?”
“Plum.”
“Okay. Why did you like it? What was good about it?”

Photo credit: Creative Commons
Photo credit: Creative Commons

“I liked the diction.” The stress of the word caught her tongue.
He turned to the window.
“What about it?”

She looked up, noting his subtle shift from one foot to the other.

“The way the words flowed—I liked the meter.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”

“Well now,” he swiveled to face her.
“That can’t be all.”

“If it’s good—you’re never sated,” she said, cocking an eyebrow.

She perched on her next words–

“She’s good. She keeps you flush to her thigh.”

Their eyes caught for a moment.
His fingers twitched.
The corner of her lip curled.
A fly buzzed on the classroom wall.

It was enough.

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