The husband opened his eyes wider
He needed to comprehend his wife’s beauty
His mind’s eye needs to see her as clearly as he can now
Every fleck of her eye
The line of her nose
The contours of her lips
All needed to be etched into permanence.
He was scared that someday it would be forgotten
He was scared as to how it would be forgotten
He imagined chiseling each feature into sculptor’s stone
This will take time, but masterpieces so often do.
“Why are you staring at me?” she asked, before walking off.
Sideways, sideways; always sideways.
Sideways is a essential for a goalkeeper, or a boon for a farmer working the seabed, but I’m a salesman;
Sideways enslaves me to the horizontal. Yes, I don’t have to turn 90 degrees when squeezing past people, I can sidle past
Sideways. But when you have the Atlantic Ocean to contend with, space is not a problem.
Sideways stops me cuddling my crablets when they have a cut to their claw.
Sideways prevents me from scuttling into the arms of my amore.
Sideways on stairs is not straightforward. Yes, we’re not fazed on a skyscraper’s ledge, as we slide
Sideways by default; but we also don’t have the height to be able to see how far up we are.
Sideways isn’t a choice that we make, but a lifestyle we are forced into
Sideways. This may be mordant, but being a crab means you learn to see the world slightly