Lightning and Blue Waters

An art student, she was a mysterious brunette, whose most stunning feature were eyes of piercing tanzanite; silent and deep as a fathomless ocean. Even the most skillful sailor, caught in those whirlpools of blue light, which knew no depth, plunged into the waters to drown. He was a conservatory trained tenor with features as striking and hard edged as sharp granite massifs standing against the sun. Coeds swooned, especially when they heard him sing. His voice was as sweet and thick as fresh cream before becoming sweeter butter. If he sang four measures of "Maria," from West Side Story, coeds would mentally disrobe him and dream of languishing in his arms, as if struck by mystical lightning. The eyes met the voice on the campus green on fine spring day during "Art at the Student Union." She was displaying 2 water colors and an acrylic. Fittingly, he was singing "This Nearly Was Mine," from South Pacific. The eyes heard the voice crooning atop a temporary stage near the Union. She waded through the crowd to hear. When close enough to the stage to trade glances the eyes lapsed into fantasy so quickly her knees quaked. The voice never wavered after making contact with the tidal pool that were her eyes. Still safe atop the stage he mentally rejected a life jacket and dove full bore into her swirling blue waters. She drew the voice into the depths of her tanzanite sea, enfolding him. His voice threw off sparks that would make Van De Graff pale, electric portraits in sound. She now paints arias on canvas of his granite features. His voice flares blue sparks. Lighting the air with sound. All this from a mutual glance on the campus green!