Eyes I Love

You never uncovered them for me,

but your eyes were serendipity.

The sun may sometimes be caught

in a rain puddle.

And the puddle never survives.

But with our eyes,

it's different.

Yours make me too happy.

And I survive it.

Mine,

should you see them,

burn like you.

I go to your eyes and bath my soul

in their blackness.

You never look at me.

His Hands

They ask me about my preferences:

"What do you like in a man?"

The 'Misses' at the University,

walking their eyes across my dress,

dragging white fingers across desktops,

killing

time.

Handbags. Eyes. Lipsticks.

"What would attract you?"

I hear them all, one by one

and never know what to say.

I do not know any men.

I dream. An evening drowned

in purple bruises and white lies.

Flies. And hands.

Hands that held the mood. Hands that played

it all. Hands that beat. Hands that were bitter

and hot. Hands that sawed air and broke

my breath into two. Hands that hush-hushed.

Hands that rubbed. And rubbed. And rubbed.

Hands that bloomed and betrayed. Hands that

contained. Hands that took, took, took.

Hands that crawled. Hands that clawed at the silence.

Hands in my hair.

Hands.

"Come on. Don't play shy!" She insists,

"The smile?" "Chivalry?" "The style?"

"His hands."

Nothingness at Boiling Point

So choked am I
swiveling on this chair-
the pivot of nothingness;
takes me nowhere.

I weave half-circles, then return.
What for is the meaningless sojourn?
I burn.
And never completely burn.

What for is all this that I learn?
A formula for everything!

Clinging to the kingpin,
swinging and stopping,
I trick myself into futures
that will never be.

I do not move when I move.
I do not love when I love.

I heat it up, just
this nothingness,
like it were Desire and Promise.

My thoughts, like broken glass bangles
are kept
only for the sake of keeping.