there is a magical man
who lives down the street
he has many names
and it would be rather unjust to refer to him by only one

somedays he sits in my brain and rearranges
it feels good to have my file cabinets emptied every
once in awhile

after he sits outside my window and watches and waits
for an invitation back in

the most peculiar thing is his appearance
he is lovely,
eyes of the darkest dead star
perfect white teeth behind blue lips

i couldn't help but wonder
what would become of a conversation with him
so i invited him to tea

since that day
we have come to know each other very well
his eyes are darker than they were before

probably because my light that shone upon them is dwindling
i am running out of time
i apologize, but it is time to see him again
and now my mind and i must go