My mind traces your every curve and valley,
yearning for adventure in new lands.
For though unexplored, I can see you fit
me as water in glass.
So why not rush into me, why evade?
Guiding is my specialty, but you writhe
as if in storm, with wind in current as I
grasp futilely at your crashing
waves,
beg for your ordering.
But so it goes,
again,
again,
until I see you have no waves, you weather no storm.
It is merely my eye-shard's trick,
reflected as I lay broken and shattered
about the kitchen floor.