Dear Pablo,
I met a woman like yours
today. She smelled of roses and wet
earth. I could taste
the rain in her words,
feel one hundred stars
shiver when she drew
a breath in.
She kept her body
away from mine --
stance rigid like
an oak with no give
to the wind.
Her shoulders seemed
to watch over her body,
keeping her chin high and
her legs braced even
as she feigned relaxation.
Her eyes shone when she
laughed but I could hear
the rustle of autumn's
leaves -- crisp and dead.
She ate an apple
standing there
letting the juice run
down her pale, blue
wrist, letting it leave
a sticky river that
reached her elbow.
She did not give
her name, nor did it
feel withheld.
When I blinked, she
disappeared, but I knew
it was Matilde.
Sincerely yours,
Ryley