You're the look of contemplation,
A glance of what I yearn for,
My Sunday morning.

       Internal dissonance
       Creeping in slowly
       Then all at
       Once

I open up a window,
I let your light in.
But
You see my shadow,
And only say thanks.

I place you in infinite containers,
Unsure of whether I'm finding opposites
Or
Reflections

I imagine something positive happened
Between where you are
And where I desire to be
 
      I can't remember
      And here
      You're in hell

Your words dissipate into my bad timing,
a concept now tangible,
You place a statue.

Are you happy?
Well, shouldn't I be?