If they saw everything in you
you give away they'd still be blind.
Perfection lies (on bedsheets)
from your moon-brown eyes--
and still the name's engraved
oh, 5 times over
far too shallow here to catch the bits
of who you try to be that overspill,
but underneath,
I know you breathe the same.
You cry the same as me.
That aura sticking to your skin's a well-worn book
a paper-back novel,
Binded lock and key.
Concealing all but a beautiful picture
and leaving the rest to dream just under the surface

(We would stare forever at your painted stars
if only you would ask...)
But sometimes it's enough to know
in sadness you would smile
and it'd be more for our sake.

12/17/2003

Posted on 12/18/2003
Copyright © 2024 Trisha De Gracia