You don't see
long black hair
as I do
with spiked ridges
slashing stiff lines
across green eyes
and pale cheeks-
I can't tell
if they're bold-
they resist caress.
The sickening essence
of smoldering musk
wakes my throat-
drenching the air
as it rattles
in my lungs.
I watch closely
the shadowy form
of your efforts
dressing with care.
Sharing a morning
in confused silence
I offer breakfast
(a poor suggestion)
and instead pursue
the wistful idea
of keeping you.
Tell me now,
was that tear
for my sake alone?