you didn't open your eyes once.
you didn't want to see how much i was in love with you.
we sat there in the back of your car
kissing like there was no tomorrow.
but you never once opened your eyes to look at me.
you did smile..
with those perfect teeth...
your lips parting just enough
where i could feel them against my lips.
your eyes never opened.
i pushed your hair back...
maybe you were blinded by the coarse strands of golden brown hair?
i pushed and pushed but your eyes never opened.
maybe those eyes  didn't want to see who they were touching.
they just wanted the sensation of the touch.
your eyes never opened that night
and i never once got to see
those glazed brown eyes staring back at me.

brown-eyed boy,
you haunt my dream
with your golden gleam

brown-eyed boy,
i wonder if your touch is as soft
as the way you lay your eyes upon me
       [like i was fragile glass,
        and a simple whisper
        is enough to shatter me]

brown-eyed boy,
you’re neither the blues
of the deep abyss
or the viridescence
of oak leaves

brown-eyed boy,
you’re the soil nourishing me
all the riches of this earth
the oxygen i breathe

and brown-eyed boy?
loving you is like
overindulging in
honey
       [for you're so sweet
        and who am i to resist?]

-

I love chocolate.
Chocolate disappears fast.
No more once eaten.

your cheeks blush
a light red, a dark pink
and i think to myself
maybe it's time
that i wash off the
oppression from your skin
the colonial violence
and the crimes against humanity
your eyes are a certain kind
of blue that i always
associated with privilege and pain
but maybe there's more to them
the ocean under the moon
the poppies mid-june
you burn under the sun
but maybe that isn't a punishment from God
instead a blessing from the
God of Sun who loves you
so much that She can't help but
kiss you just a little too long
your white skin speaks
of your history with your all too obvious
scars and bruises that shine
(you couldn't ever see mine)
maybe they are not from the wars you started
but the ones you fought
protecting yourself from your
own demons
while you button your shirt,
i see the light shadow of blonde
clean-shaven, button-up in a suit
white men with power over me
white men who want to hurt me
i am the enemy, i think.
he is the enemy, i think.
they are the enemy, i think.
or maybe-
maybe he is the midnights turned morning
the coffee and the cream cheese
the husband
the father
the start of a revolution
colored light brown, dark white
the lineage that is not of oppressors
the lineage that is not of the oppressed
the lineage
that is us-
survivors, fighters, or simply-
just two kids in love.

Ever notice how a piece of timber first catches on it burns so bright...
There's sort of a passion to it?

How it moves along flaring hot or hotter,
flaming-out here or there...

Coming around again to exhaust all efforts at staying alight...
...but it matters not.

That dark hardened shell of the wood has nothing left to give...
...can't maintain itself.

Sure, -you can add accelerant.
A later something, perhaps different in thermal expression?

In the end only speeds up the process of becoming nothing; as ashes cast into the winds.

Charred pieces were better left alone, dissolving in raindrops over time?

Never rekindle a thing once burnt.

Yes I suppose that makes logical sense...

Unless you feel cold?