And, this bit of line,
Here,
Tells me why your heart’s
Achings pour out
So thickly
In your sighs-

Why you paint on
Boisterous smiles,
To draw away from
Your telling eyes.

My fingertips feeling,

The way the bowl dips,
Deeply,
Full of somethings
Too heavy,
Find the reasons
You can’t fall prey
To those who don't say,
But reveal,

With rottenly
Itching fingers,

&

Why I can't do away with
Those maddening strokes,
That have melted into
Cracks in marble.

You've so many
Drooping wilts,
On a wiltingly drooping line,

Dripping
Downward
In their gentle slopes,

Reminding me
To be gentle
In the way that I
Love you
In ashen days.

Though,

These three little x's,
Snickering beneath your bowl,
Tell me,

You've probably been
Reading me,
In opaquely mirrored ways,

Peering from your bowl,
All along.