I floated in the corner, and I waited for a sign,
From the place where visions come at cost,
Where three sharp eyes, two heads, inclined,
To see me where I stood and spoke,
Aloud, to no avail,
Some truth, some lies, some love, some hate,
Was then I felt the nail.
Two eyes spoke, but only then,
To ask that I had felt,
The flesh that held the nail I bore,
From up there where they knelt.
The single eye was silent, still!
She would not even cast,
Her monoscopic field of view on all this violence past.
If only she would turn her face,
And three eyes become four,
Then she might open for the one,
Come knocking on her door...

It's a ridiculous cliche but, ******* it, your eyes...
Forgive me if I don't always make eye contact,
Or look away too soon.  I'm listening. I swear it.
I'm afraid you might think that I'm full of myself,
Or afraid you might think that I've no self-esteem.
The truth is much simpler than either extreme.
The truth is I'm somewhere right in between.
but still:
Twin seas draw my stare and I fear what I'll say.
Fear falling into their unlit depths, where even my silence could betray.
The source to illuminate and fuel our lives' desires,
Find it in her hands , her touch,
Find it in her eyes.
Her eyes of ocean depth see me,
Giving no safe place to hide,
Searching bad cliches for the light, the otherness inside.
But what if all of my words are wrong?
What if they drive you away?
What if the light between oceans is mute?
Insufficient to make you stay?

Raise, for your experiences, a city.
Build a warehouse, down the block,
Where you’ll keep the cosmos.
Build a bookshelf, within a brownstone,
Where some other things can go.
Like the time you grasped a flower,
Felt beneath, felt the spines that
Pricked your skin,
Made you cry.
But that shelf will be revisited many times,
In this fragile, crumbling zip code,
Forsaking more majestic memory palaces,
Because the vision reached your soul,
Through pain,
Of all that beauty, soft, red, enfolded into itself,
On such a slender stem.