RealDream112

You said you had defined yourself In the crooks of my elbows, in the angle of my nose. I looked in the mirror and found the curves of me To be very much my own. . . . I would catch your eyes from across a room, Across an ocean and beyond a beach, And hold them there for precious, fragile seconds In a dire reluctance to move Lest my return be skewed, construed as something More than coffeepots or the metal feet of desks. . . . Burn pictures of me now as the fog rolls in on mouse feet Pray to God and science that they can lead you Drag you To a warmer paradise Because my curves are not for you, dear. My self is not for you.