i stare at your peacefully vain
movements
and your uninspired eyes,
my dull binoculars- all mine
for most of the day.

given that you are
laying
on your bed of hardwood
wrapped in red blankets
drinking
your sacred milk

you have the seeming of a speechless
chess piece
painted plaster
with a hundred eyes hungrily
following me-
yet seeing nothing
bud a bedstand
and a glass of water half-effaced.

i yield myself
to your quiet lazyness, mirror
a sugary dormant
way of killing time.

you, a climbing bittersweet
taking me
down
the unannounced
limbs and branches
reach for the back
of my neck
you whisper to me
your own sordid name.

i let you pretend
you do not remember
my touching your shoulder
the day before.

then i hide in the room
and stare
and stare
and stare.

you see your dresser,
the flowers on it
-how they moan in
their wintering-
but you can never
realize
i am standing
there, beside it.

when i get tired of looking at you, i go out for a swim
or step into the nearest church
to smell the sanctity
of praying candles.