Breakfast

Tangled thread captures his wrist-
A meaning no technology,
No person,
Could create
Without losing the fray
That curls lines within lines
And makes both beginnings and ends
To be no less than a rainbow’s arc
Curled around his covered head.
A brow – fierce in the strobe
And gentle in the day that
His brown eyes look out upon-
Dappled like a clearing,
Changing like a waterfall;
A shimmering entrance to his soul,
Towering, beautiful,
And much harder to see through
Than windows.

In silence, he offers the present only
As stories drop like stones
And become a rockbed of no direction;
For all paths bear his mark,
But he bears none.

My gaze knocks at his
Impenetrable stillness,
And sways,
Like a leaf discovering flight.

A quiver becomes a smile
When he catches me,
And “Rien” escapes his lips,
Inviting everything I am to dance
In his strange and gentle kiss.

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