Puppy Dog Eyes

There’s this face staring back at me in those opulent optics. It’s distorted, a fun house mirrored face, but it’s distinguishable as the face of longing. In the glint of her pupils I can make out my own, open wide and eager, transfixed. It’s a face I caught in a glimpse as my own eyes dart from that vaporous smile, coy and hard to grasp, to that hair tucked back loosely floating on the most diaphanous of sound waves permeating the cleared out opening. Had the sun not shone just at the angle over my head as it had it might’ve been a look overlooked, never to be seen by the wearer. Caught in that tender paralysis that my brushing fingers along her forearm brings, as if the shivers it provoked rattled my very spine, I was able to see the scene from both sides.

A nervous boy, relishing in the goose bumps that her voice erected, staring back intently like a Labrador retriever forever poised just as the ball is to be thrown; both innocently ignorant and blissfully sublime in that moment and intent on obtaining nothing but the prize forever before him. Keep your eye on the ball. If I didn’t know any better I’d say he was almost panting, but it’s merely his heart and mind that are racing, chasing his tail. And as she folds her hand into mine I see the reflection in those gilded orbs of my own puppy dog eyes glistening back with only one thing in their sights: pretty girl. As she laughs at my silence and pulls me into a hug all I can think is puppies must understand the drive, man’s best friend indeed.