I want to
have:
your
eyes, set
three-to-five meters in front of you
cutting sharp
perpendicular lines past me, in
front of me
next to my own vision
your height is lightly settled into that
small
gap between us
thinking about something unsaid
and very certain of it
that vision of
wise
integrity, which
cuts through the multi-toned floorboards
the pensive furrow
I don't
see, but
feel
which speaks of some other
generation
most of them
(when looking)
flash
between
boy-and-man ...
you had others, but
more like
this part
and that
part
myself morphing, too
you are a good colour
sort of like the floorboards
how they are all shades of earthy
and of another time
but equally
present
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