Our Reality

Wading through crowds of faces
unfamiliar and foreign and much too optimistic,
your eyes are the magnetic north to which
my nervously flitting gaze is drawn.
As always, I'm held transfixed.
My whole being has never encountered something
to which it feels such an irresistible pull
as those irises of yours.
God must have thought it would be amusing to stray from the age-old pattern when he created such perfectly symmetrical
veils of emotion.
They're two pools of opaque muddy water that
reflect each and every memory and thought and
tingling desire I have of you.
Yes, they reflect my essence.
But the murky unknowable depths reveal nothing of you.
Your long sensual brown eyelashes conceal something that would mean
everything.
You leave me with nothing.
Kaleidoscopes of crystalline melancholy. Hypnotizing.
I can't turn away as you unknowingly project our past for only my
raw senses to cling to like a drowning man.
The times you held my trembling body flush to yours, us naked and bare and terrified and lost in the cool ecstasy of gentle enveloping warmth.
The way my name ghosted off your marble lips involuntarily, like a reflex, like something infinite,
when I kissed your eyelids and chest. When I stroked you and sucked you and took you in with a
passionately pained cry.
The way your damaged soul wouldn't let you be brave enough to say the three words I needed.
The way you wouldn't hold me, afterwards.
The way you still want me, but will never again allow yourself to have me.
The danger of letting me know you is too great.
You blink.
Binds evaporate like so much condensation on a hazy window pane.
Once again, I'm left floating through miles and miles of ocean,
with nothing tethering me
to land.