i watched you with my third eye,
until it grew tired and threatened to close and sleep.
(sleep is a rare commodity these days and
cannot be bartered and traded).
you spoke in a way i wished i could,
soft, pretty, in lazy-circles-in-the-sky,
it made me feel like abrasive soap
against the fine landscape of the world.
still, i clung to the sound, to the thought of you
i conjured as i watched and listened.
you were unaware of me,
(i run like silvery ripples atop a stream)
and i stayed until my head could fill no more,
tasting the syllables of your stories,
counting the moments i placed myself within
their circles and danced by the fire
under the moon.
you fill pages of me and yet
i do not touch a sentence of your day,
it leaves me breathless
from wonder and pain alike.
the lashes curl inward,
my third eye bristles when exposed,
yet it remains wide as a yawn,
drawing rivers like red threads
across the white and coloured plains.
i'm listening, more than i should, more
than i am entitled to. yet, it is what it is,
i would absorb the sun if i knew
it would keep me alive
rather than burn me dry
from inside out.
where did you find that voice?
that pretty trinket that glistens
from your throat
and holds captive a room?
my lives are curious
and shall pass the information along
each fragile limb of my existence.
the secrets are your own,
to keep or expose as your will instructs.
i ask only for the talent
of opening one's mouth and
discovering the heart
glistening on velvet tongue.