Blind

I say there is beauty in the wings of those that cannot fly,
a timeless delicacy, like Audrey and Marilyn and the sort (and yet)
you are Gabriel, all Botticelli curls and crooked smiles
And you wonder, is it sad pity, perchance?

You are scared of things bigger than yourself
scared of the layer of filter that covers your sight
so that there is no more raw beauty and dazzling lights,
but only black darkness (your friend, your only friend)

I say, do you remember those lazy summer days
when the heat came with an entourage of strokes, lemonade stands
(overpriced, over sweetened, over exaggerated)
and walks on the beach hand-in-hand with carnival lights that flash
like they are fairies dancing, carefree, innocent, lovely?
It was before your world caved in and smashed you under an avalanche
of black snow, but I tell you,
I remember you pointing to the sunset
and saying its beauty is mirrored only by the light in my eyes
when I laugh, cry, and love.

I’m scared when you enter that stage of anger
and hate for what happened on that winter night, the fourth of February,
ten before the day of cupid bows and silly kisses
I pretend I know what you are going through (I don’t)
because nothing is quite like watching your life skip by
as though it is the last train to Memphis and you’re standing in the dark.





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