Dark His Eyes

Dark his eyes. Dark the eyes of the besotted lover.
He sighs for her, pants for her, yearns for her.

She is his newfound land, his America,
whether she wants or not.

Such has ever been the lot of the pining lover,
to sigh sad sighs, to make overtures disregarded.

To scurry to and fro, beholden
to a dark magic, a madness within.

He grunts. Surely that’s what’s occurring.
He has no choice. No control.

He gazes at her.
She’s so slim, so pretty…

Hardly anyone else about.
But still, a few.

So, his heart swells when
she steps around a corner,

into a scantily lit alley.

He restrains a grin,
but can’t help quickening

his pace just slightly,
as he follows her-

“KEEYA!”

A palm splats his face.
He topples over.

He’s so stunned that
he watches as his newfound land

bounds out of the alley,
screeching for help.

Just lies there,
blood gushing from nose,

realising that
he won’t escape,

although he can.

This was what he needed,
what was always going to transpire,

he reflects,
as a rippling man

walks to him,
softly but swiftly,

handcuffs him,
shows him a badge.

This is the end of his magic.