Some urge.
It's down to the orientation of hormones in my
brain, which I imagine as grey cheese
nested (fold after fold) inside itself.
Still; urge; I don't notice eyes but
her eyes were a promise and I
should be explicit she's
not mine a girl
found
outside toeing pavement in
Sacramento then
found
inside waiting for coffee.
Her eyes were a promise it's
not even
anything so
conventional as
love just
observation why
must it always be love when
even that texture is alien?
You love with your brain,
feel with your hands,
watch
with your eyes, and
I never notice eyes.
Post a Comment