The first tear ran down her cheek but caught itself at the precipice of her chin. It clung there for dear life but in vain. It fell and died, drowning in the cotton of her sweater.
The second tear, more cautious, sat swinging its legs over the edge of her eyelid. Second tear had heard all the utopian tales of freedom beyond the duct, but had always been sceptical. After all, no one had ever returned to confirm or deny the tales, had they? Looking down, it thought better of it and melted into the pastures of her hazel iris.
“… and melted into the pastures of her hazel iris” !
nice one, sirene !
Thank you, Angel. That means a lot coming from a published poet!