every time your lids meet—

I take note of every veiny scrawl;

every feathery lash that twines upward

the careful details that veil your intermittent


attempting to articulate the vast acumen of your being

to see a splinter of

the dusky gray you spoke of 

of the stillest and gentlest manner

of the tampering fog of forgetting

of the quixotic paradox of hoping for someone

that will simply hold you—

but let you go.

but simple feelings

rise and fall like the tides

changing as with the sequences of the moon.

how can you trust a coming and going of the wind…

if eyes—

are doors to the soul.

I plead for explanation from yours.

but the harmonious array of refractions lay concealed

truth silent—

again, I cling to questioning, observant of your closed



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