That look of yours on Friday as you left—still
it dislodges me completely from myself.
That is why I've lost all hold,
and burn my fingers literal with want.
That hunger for you
sets me aflame and freezes me both
To surrender into my own skin
And climb the stairs alone.
What to search through the cupboards
To find myself?
Then I remember your hands,
and all their different gestures.
The memory comes quick, so quick!
But truly........ without you it means nothing.
Then I rest a moment,
But only when you are near.
# Your Gaze Your gaze falls upon me like rain on parched earth— each glance a benediction, each look a small drowning. I have learned the language of your eyes: how they darken when sorrow passes through, how they brighten like lamps lit suddenly in an empty house. Your gaze is a door I keep walking through, though I know what waits on the other side— myself, reflected and strange, made whole by your seeing. Sometimes I hide from it, this gaze that knows me better than I know myself, that reads the unwritten chapters, the margins of my wanting. But always I return, a moth to its burning light, because to be seen like this— truly, completely, without mercy— is to finally exist. Your gaze is the only country I have ever belonged to.
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