She walks without shade
                                           Or surrender
Her gaze holds you
To a moment
                                           In reality
Where nothing else is seen

Her mousetrap smile
Holds minds
                                           And thoughts
To the presence behind it

Her voice as pure
As Chamomile
Vibrant as Rosehip

On Sundays she paints
In crimson and white
                                          For fun
Amidst a tone of two Cellos

She walks into a room
                                          And ensures
Your breath will fall to the floor

You stroke my hair
Whilst I smooth the flesh
                          That without muscle hangs

Outside the clouds
Turn into a landscape
Obscured by haze
                                    In that blissful second
I forget the fading time allotted to us
And
        For a moment
Leave the reality of both our consequences

Whilst gravity
However weak
Defines

This experience remains
Bound by density
                                   By dimension

Unless everything is forgotten
Even the act of remembering
                                           To forget

Holds one
Shrouded from the ether
By five dermal layers

Each to be permeated daily
In silence between Monday
                                     And Friday

Leaving Saturdays naked

Without thought of Sunday
Or dissolving into the space
                                     That surrounds us all

I ask
And you say
                                                     “I’m not sure”
Like the moment
Before it snows

Or nights spent
Searching for Venus
Without clarity
Through naked eyes

You knew she lay secluded
In a room unused
But still said
                                                     "I’m not sure”

There she wore a pendant
Engraved   “keep out” in braille
I didn’t feel it
We never touched
Venus dims
And you won’t speak
The words from within
I ask
And you say
                                                    “Are you sure”

There is a condition
Adjacent to fear
But beyond its boundary

A place so close
That you
May drown in the awareness
Of survival

A point in time
Where you
Await the Caiman to close
Their eyes

There was something
About your mascara
When it rained
When it smudged
When you told me
                                not to look
And I did
                     And you laughed
I was glad it wasn’t waterproof
                           Or childproof
Because that’s how you made
                                                     me feel

But
Before it ran
                   The liner in the corner            
                   Of each eye angled
                                                  easterly
                   And aligned with Horus
                   And the pyramids
                
                                          And now the
Prism within each iris
          Within each eye
Within your photograph
                  Upon the wall

Creates a
                   mirage
                   that your still here

There was something
                    about your              
                                               mascara

Identity has
No attachment
Where from
It was once held down
                                                     As a constant
To cover the years

Identity is suggestive

Fluid
In the moment of our own perception
Adaptable
In the moment of being perceived

Take an ice cube
Place it between your palms
                                                   As to incubate
Identity dissolves to
Slip through your fingers