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His Eyes

I live in the circle at the end of road.

Aphotic, the street black as the reflection of piano sharps

one, singular gleaming blaze.

Luminescent, an abandoned street light,

the only thing to be seen for miles.

I live right in the middle of the town circle.

The city is painted with military garments,

olive and hazel nuts sprinkled in a jade salad,

these colors surround me.

I live my free moments in the greenhouse.

Transparent as the glass on Cinderella’s slipper,

the cornea, indescribable glasshouse,

brilliant hues stain gentle petals,

creating a display of gaudy beauty.

Many a flower takes shelter here,

but I prefer the Iris.

I live my long days in the dark grasses on the north end.

Letting them gently brush me.

A protective older brother,

keeping the wind from taunting me.

I live my wild life at the edge of town.

Untamed, undomestic, fierce.

Ferocious like a freed lion.

Where the guards protect the city

and shut it down when it’s time to rest.

I live in a village where emotion is inked on faces.

Nothing stoic, everything screaming

expressions hung off fearful cliffs,

no words needed.

I live in his eyes.



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