You stare at me.
I move differently,
deliberately, when
you watch me, my
hands, my eyes, my mouth.
(I’m teaching you how
to touch me.)
You look away.
I watch you.
You stare more.
I meet your glance
and hold it
hold it
hold
it. (Not too tight like a
desperate clasp, but tenderly like
the first whispered, “I love you.”)
I glance downward,
with intent,
willing you to
stare again.
Eye to eye,
surely this is our most
honest language.TIP:
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six foot skinny
Writer to the Stars
Zyskandar Jaimot
Mary Ann Farley
thatdamnbob
Grannypower
Salon.com
Comments
Eye to eye = most honest language.
Brilliant.
--rated--
I remember the moment so clearly and what we were saying to each other with our eyes. I remember thinking, "How can all the other people in this room not see what we're 'saying'?"
I'm pleased it resonated.
peece,
dj
Grif, I'm so pleased you like this. I wrote another one in my head yesterday while on an eight mile walk... I'll see if I can remember it tonight. Thanks for reading, as always.
I've always liked the ending to this one.
"I move differently,
deliberately, when
you watch me, my
hands, my eyes, my mouth.
(I’m teaching you how
to touch me.)
The whole poem evokes a feeling, but that first segment grabs one by the throat, or whatever, giving an incredibly sensual feeling to the words.
I always liked that part of it, too.