Those beautiful, empty eyes.
They pierce the smoky haze,
staring into me.
Through me.
They see me
but with the intensity and knowing of a
blind man.
That anger, rage, and challenge in the eyes of my
beloved.
You are he, but he is not you.
My love,
you dismiss the world,
yet you cannot.
It has left its mark upon you.
A cruel paradox.
Seen.
Discovered.
Beauty captured
but in a moment gone.
Come to me.  
Let my hand upon your face
restore the warmth into those
cold, foreign eyes.
Who is this spirit that embodies you,
who imprisons my heart?
Cast it away.
Look upon me, beloved.
Let me find favor in your eyes.
There is no rage there.
You challenge me
to explore the depths of your love
and nothing more.
It is you who sees me.

“Where is your mom?”
someone always asks.
With God.
I sent her there when I was nine.
Upon a cross.
Lathered in burning tar.
A merciless gunshot to the head.
I witnessed death in all its forms.
For to be saved, there is
only one way.  
“If that was my fate,
what would you say?”