It was his eyes that melted
The frost on my bones and the tip of my nose
Until the water seeped into my blood.
Maybe it was the way his spine held his neck
His neck held his head
His head held his heart.
Maybe it was the way that looking at him is looking through mist, with squinted eyes and my vision fogged.
Maybe if he had turned around it would have lifted
But he didn’t.

I don’t think I love him—or like him at all
But he slips into my head through my pores on my face and chest
And builds a house under my skin
Made of bricks and cement;
Then goes hiking in my brain, leaving traces of him along the trail
Until all I can see are his eyes
All I can hear is his laugh
And all I can feel is

Him.