It's Still Life

She Without Name

You know that time between dreaming and waking, when you roll over and your dyne starts for floor, but there’s still enough covering your legs to keep yourself on the side of being covered …

Well, that’s when she arrived.

She’s white as northern new snow that sparkles like laughing stars, and her left eye is nearly blind – it’s turned a jade amber colour – while her other eye is the colour of Nordic winter sun.

She rests her chin on my lap, looks deep into me, as if searching for the truth and reason of my existence, and makes the slightest thunderous sound in the depth of her throat – a pledge that she has no other expectation of me.

We are linked as one.

We are companions until the day I cease to belong to this place, at which time I am sure she will decide to follow me.

Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Imagery and prose/poems ©Misky 2023. Join in with Six Sentence Sunday: the word is Link. [note: dyne = duvet]