brown eyes
lick the remainder of
my teary bleary humanity-
kiss the stress off trembling shins
shed on
all very important documents
professing to know
just exactly the right way to suffer

Sometimes I mistake you for euphoria,
for as you drip pigment into the colors
of my irises, they can no longer focus
for shaking iridescent mirth.

I love you like the first lemon I tasted
you stormed into my life
                             (like the sour in my face.)

        you changed the expressions I choose to wear too…
but instead of making the grimace-squeeze face of
                            acidic lemon

                                              I tend to be too busy smiling.

sweep me off my*

                         *insolence

because every mood
when
we absorb one another’s irises
spins me in such poignant fragrance
as if to say
                            “my now is yes
                              between your fingers”