as much as i try to seem
calm and domesticated,
like an old dog in suburbia,
i am yet a beast:
my fangs drip with whiskey
and my eyes shine in the night
like a vulture or a fox, but less beautiful.
so distant, horizon lines and fish eye lenses,
like the past, or some naval armada,
pummeled by your locks,
driven to the bottom of the ocean by
your treacherous hazel eyes.

fair well, or better than i,
for your happiness is its own reward
and your smile is the universe.
once we sat, delirious,
smoking cigarettes in the misty sunrise,
talking **** about people we didn't know,
asking questions, unanswerable,
all the while, your smile bearing down on my soul,
and mine, paling in comparison,
searing itself into the insides of your eyelids.

i am the way your cheeks flush whenever you see me,
and you are the sweat on my brow as your smile,
refracted on a million rays of light,
reaches roughly into my brain and extracts
every single bit of sanity, so tenderly.