to myself, your mind invisible and
silent—a shuttering of thought,
a blind kiss of faith. I can’t hold you. A stranger
went on vacation, captured on camera your
smiletouchlaugh and held in his hand
a glimpse of you. Lies. The mind lies,
spins stories, wreaks reality wretched.
Inside of you there are drunken tattoos,
figuring out what time it is,
lying broken on the floor.
Don’t look at me, you used to say.
You used to say I was
so painfully open you could
see it, my mind spread out in the shadows of
my eyes. A mind can ask why, too.
Why is it your eyes, mine. Why
is it me looking, you look and look. Why
is it me, this no one, I am no one--
but I want you to look at me,
heart of my heart, see the broken certainty in me
and hold it.