Friday, November 30, 2012

Big Eyes

Not big alone. Not by a longshot.
Limitless depth that I would stare
down for an epoch, unto infinity.
Wrap me in yeux until there's no me.

You probably thought me crazy
the time I recorded you, silent,
with some haunting, melodic hum
in the the background and blazing
white sunlight pouring from the
cracked drapes behind, limning
an angel apropos. You smirked devilishly.

There won't be words written against
you. I couldn't. I can not.
Requiems and eulogies alone suffice.
But they offer no solace.
I'm bitter, worn, tired.

Eyes in which I might have incubated,
been reborn--eyes big and deep
enough for such things--are not
looking at me with hunger, ready
to swallow my entirety.

I can't even delete phone pics,
toss out clothes you left,
and I stare at the same bloody
wall with discontinuous pain.
What good are substitutes?
How could Her eyes ever deign
to see what your orbs keenly reveal?

This is no pity party before dawn
and after dusk, when I should be
parlaying with the relentless
cousin of Death:

It's a celebration that you even looked.

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