Smudges
Location
Your marks on me,
like smudges on glass,
from a nose and a pair of lips -
yours pressed to mine.
I wipe at the pane,
and wipe at the pain.
Those smudges remain,
and distort my vision,
rippling under my fingers.
The smudges change,
and thus change how I see.
But though they blur,
I do not wish them gone.
For to a simple lawn,
they add a fantasy,
a blurry prism of green and yellow
rioting against all order.
Your smudges add clarity as they blur the glass.