Friday, March 02, 2007

Metaphoric Description

Created as a writing exercise.

He’s a snow-peaked mountain—taller than Fuji. It’s that hair of moonlight on ocean waves. Snow falling around mirror eyes. Eyes that are your eyes, my eyes, but never his eyes.

His smile is a katana—polished gleaming steel. It cut you when you were distracted by your smile in his mirror eyes.

He is that shadow when there is no light to cast it. The whisper at your ear when you’re alone.

His hands are death—death you don’t see coming. Not from the mountain, so steady and stable—until an avalanche.

His laugh is a chill running down your spine. You laugh, too, but at the same time, you’re wondering what the joke was. That’s when you’ll see the geisha smile, his Noh mask. You try to push aside the velvet curtain, looking for the actors—only to realize it’s a rope, and your name is not on the VIP list.

He is the music you can hear from inside. Fast. Wordless. Bass and volume the only certainty.

His conversation is not a game of Go, although you’ll think that at first. He has no reason to focus on claiming your black pieces. They were taken when you were busy blocking his katana smile with your own bladed words.

No, his conversation is more tea ceremony than anything else. It’s the ritual that you should appreciate. Presentation is everything, and the word you need to fully express his peculiar flavor exists only in Japanese


Rachel said...

Wow. That's a good picture.

Christina said...

This is so sensual, it gave me chills.