He looks at her as though they are the only two cirrus clouds

streaming in a vast turquoise and magenta sea

of ceaseless turquoise and magenta sky.

A sunset sprawled and stretched to fit the horizon,

underfilled and overfilled,

with romantic quirks and sex scenes,

replaying over and over in his mind,

waiting to be filled just right, like a hand sometimes is.

While your eyes witness the events that misshapen and mold your life,

your hands feel them.

Your eyes are bystanders,

but your rough, calloused fingers,

they held the sword that drew the river of blood

that the Soul sailed smoothly, but cautiously, down

and as it approached the edge of the Body,

it thanked you with gratitude, and a polite smile.

Your eyes are bystanders,

but your smooth, polished fingertips,

they delicately intervene with the man at the end of the dirt road,

and they give him something to look forward to.