it might be too soon for the words,
though we feel we know yet.
being too willing loses its gait and
i want my truth to all be enough
to handle. i don't know how we do this,
without iron grip i think, so i just see
that i could really write a hundred
words about your eyes. or about looking
at them. in them. clean and untouched
purely slow gentle young old strong like
dark planets that stay still, floating.
shot up, shaped out of something in and
each a reflection of the other but
just as real. you are not my child.
but i understand. i think i understand
romance. friendship. i want something
unformed, without the i, to move in with
enough distance never to feel your focus
burning off again like that claimness. be
not the same, but plain and everywhere.
i might be dim in the making, drawn
in the creating, but the long breath
i breathed in this new kiss gave me
permission. let the low burning world
try to release it. leave it to suffer
on repeat, with its loopholes and omens.
i've never not known you, good, bad or
afraid. i'm small in it and you're
right, it's not really us.
you can't even see your own eyes.
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