Brain

1.

She was watching me,

silently, quietly. Her

living room was cheerful,

happy, with light blue

walls, Delacroix prints

of passion, life. She

had a huge pile of books

on the floor. Why not in

the bookcase?  

2.

On the pile was a

model brain:  every

valley, hill labeled

precisely.

3.

"May I" asked I?  The

brain was made of rubber,

felt pleasantly spongy.

"It's part of my experimental

brain, the Sylvian fissure,"

said she.  "Sounds like a

witch or a talking horse,"

smiled I.  For the splitting

of an atomic second the corner

of her lips almost flickered at me.