The Woman in Your Eye, the Feeling in Mine

It's funny how we can play the part of little gods so casually, without acknowledging it... Acknowledgement is what it is, is what we give Like some scarcity, a limited blessing for those chosen few. We hesitate, I think, because knowledge of you is power over me—you capture me, arrest my intrigue, and become a part of me I can never truly detach—no matter how far we run, or for how long. you can't give me back, I can't give you away. Oscar made a fine periph[ery, a market neighbor in league against violent gusts of wind gunning for our licentious tents just hoping to be blown away...but then he came to me, with you in his eye, Stephanie (I should) have seen it, that look a man gets in his eye for that certain woman—a look I've spied in so many mirrors, a look I've worn weary for many a year). He asked that I write a poem for you, his girlfriend, or, not exactly, more ex, but more and also friend, and whom he cares for very much and wants her to know and...I know. I know, friend. Don't you see all I've taken and cherished, don't you see her in my eyes, in the creeping lines that write her name in my face more clearly every year that we're apart? Some wear masks, some an albatross around their neck...and then there's us. I know, Stephanie, every foul thing he's ever put you through. He wears his guilt, his care, his love for you every day, for strangers who don't even know you, and for no one at all...can we at least admit he wears them well, carries you well? press his wounds with a look of grace, when you read this...won't you? He lives in me too, now, so I'm counting on you: accept this gift of love.