Eyes.

---

The eyes won't be anything but impassive. Behind the tall treetops, a moon like a Cheshire cat smile wanes, surrounded by steam-like fog.

Communication. It takes place only that way.

Eyes open, eyes close, her eyes beam behind the glass and his eyes, shrouded in a projected shadow, look impassive at her.

Through eyes closed eyes open look and see nothing but a strain in the Milkyway of freckles on her cheeks.

They touch. They kiss.

But it's their eyes, not their lips, the ones that are speaking.

---

---

On the spur of the moment.