His head was always propped upon mascara-stained pillow cases,

Maybe he didn't notice That I had smeared my Maybelline on his sleeping quarters, Because he said to me "I think this," And took his hand to my hair, Tucked it behind my ear, Cradled my skull deep into his palm, "Is the most endearing thing one can do for another." His eyes were blue  Or it was just the chemical pools of tears that flutter off my lashes, Obscuring my vision, and perhaps my hearing, For I am almost positive I heard him say, "I have never told a sandwich I was in love, but you, I am in love with you." But I, however,  I felt like jelly between two slices of bread: his hand and his gaze,  And I was in love with that sandwich.