your eyes are sweet caramel irides
caressing jet black pupils
specks of diamonds illuminating histories
i am not yet ready to acknowledge.
your eyes are long, silent
eyelashes rhythmically moving up/down up/down
begging to be touched, kissed,
loved. loved.
your eyes are soft, too soft, hopeful, too hopeful
apt in the art of getting hurt
like all of this isn’t a pattern of ours
like you don’t have a reason to know better.
your eyes are reminders shaking fat fingers at me
scolding me for finding myself with you in this elevator…under this moon…on this 3 am phone call…
like i don’t have a reason to know better.
your voice, on the other hand–
that deep dark flesh grown midnight tunnel voice of yours–
your voice is a dare
a quiet street light flickering just bright enough
to make people feel safe in their movement
a modest star shining just loud enough
to make people feel brave in their dreaming
your voice is a song, a lullaby so home i become consumed in the idea of running my hand against your throat
playing it gently, softly like a piano
feeling and listening for notes pressed hard against my fingers
any time a sign of sound slips from your mouth
wish i could hear more of your voice
see less of your eyes
but every time i turn
there you are
watching me
