We were connected
to each others gaze
and more
deeply, once
we wished would last for-
ever.
Remember
with me
conversations, deeply
endless opportunity
being
together only-
beginnings.
I know
that was then,
but I do not know
when this
is-
more endings.
True, I only speak
most
honestly in poetry.
Saying more
than I could other-
wise.
I only ask
now, how we changed
focus-frequently
away...
Don't answer,
I won't repeat.
The blue-lit face,
red cheeks, empty windows
and presence-
elsewhere, I try to focus
on something
as intangible and
deeply infinite,
as sky only to resist
the falling atmosphere.
It is my fault.
I should've asked
you if you think
we get what we deserve
always?
Painting by Philip Hermogenes Calderon (1833-1898), 'Her eyes are with her heart' c. 1881, in Pubic Domain.
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