“What is going on here?”
It is Jörn in the doorway of the kitchen looking at us.
I stare frozen at him. Why do I feel guilty? I have done nothing wrong. And whatever I’ve done he will find out anyway from Andreas. Still, I feel guilty. Why do I always feel guilty ….for protecting myself….
but —now I stare at him; something about the grey in the shirt he wears and—I don’t know what comes over me. I foolishly have to catch myself on the back of the chair for losing my balance….and hide the way I catch my breath for how he looks ….and in what he wears; skin tight henley, shoulders and muscles…. and looking up, into his eyes and face …..of which I know every line and crease of —as if I put it all there myself ….how still he does this to me….and then
I am caught and then lost within those eyes of kryptonite
Yet with not much ceremony, he takes hold of my wrist, gives bolts of lightening with his gaze at Andreas and says,
“coming then?” with his vocal pitch aimed at me, and with a yank, pulls me out the door with him
No comments:
Post a Comment