The pigment in your face
is a beauty and a grace,
so lovely laced with black and wispy hair.
Grinning with your eyebrows raised,
your lips they part,
and beg to be grazed.
I search the depths of your eyes.
only lies.
I’ll be yours, you know.
But you don’t, because
you only ever see with
t u n n e l v i s i o n
and cold complacent derision,
with which you guarantee
my transparency.
I am walking shattered glass.