Imaginary, Jasper?

"He is real enough to me." Another old poem. (November 2009)

Soulless blue-eyes,
you look into my own.
Indecisive hands, you
cling, twirl, tap.

And pupils, you
d i l a t e
(and contract)
irregularly.

Worried, frayed cuticles.
Bitten nails, torn at the tips.

Nice white socks
you've made beige from sandy kicks
swinging into the summer air.

"Will you speak?"

Movement stops in a Kodak moment,
only creepier.

Fists are clenching,
razor-rough fingertips making craters in craters.

Keep staring;
come closer,
your breath warms my own.

Those remarkable eyelashes;
I've stared too long.
My eyes are watering,

blink.

Soulless blue-eyes,
you disappear into my own.

Reviews

[Sujash I. Purna]

oh this is so charming a poem! I loved it! The words just dance around themselves. A subtle hopelessness too. This is a really wonderful piece of poetry!