Rather, a dull smile of yours
Painted around fabrics
Made from papers that burn to the touch, the eyes.

Day by day
My room; cloister of desire
Stagnant as it is
Holds many faces, each resembling you
So where are you?

Ah, these fake lips
I wish to touch them; remain unbitten
You lie in waiting, behind miles of glass and miles of rain.

So holding a frame
Uneven with my desires; tame body
Leaving it behind. Turning. Closing my door.
The real thing lingers nearby.