he leans in towards you
you wonder
            is the chair creaking
            or is he?
he peers into your mind
you wonder
            is he looking for his
            or has he forgotten to?
“Ah. She got to you, too.”
he leans back
something creaks.
you
            pausing
let him explain
“The woman”
            she laid him down
brought a slender brush to his eye
and painted his pupils
            blacker than forgetting
“She got me, too.
Look,”
lean
creak
peer
it has been years since he has seen the eye doctor
you thought he was over that story
but you lean into his confusion
            again.
you swear
            you can see
                        between the cataracts
                        through the glaze
            the neurons shorting out
                        one by one
                        little stars dying
                        swallowed by the black dots of paint.
a fist rises in your throat
scrabbling to choke the painter
to blot her eyes
black as catharsis
but instead
it chokes you
he nods
affirmed
you sit
stifled
both scatterbrained.