Glyph
He’d loved hieroglyphs ever since Indiana Jones twisted one, a stone temple figure, and the walls rumbled open. Now he was just a guy with a sputtering Ducati motorcycle taking business classes who fell in love with a girl, and took a poetry class to be with her. He learned all glyphs, hiero or otherwise, were images, which could take form in any of the senses, so her scent in bed was a glyph, her touch was sometimes a glyph, and between her lips when she said goodbye, though he pleaded for her not to, his name was a glyph.
Photo credit: maryaben
This one felt like a graceful dance.
Superb.