You Look At Me (I)

We became drunks one night flying around all Buzzed and Lovely and Beautiful. Because we were together and tender and soft and subtle and that night—we taught each other Lullabies. We made ourselves our Own answers, and I taught you how to become alive inside of another body. How to outsource your heart. It is nothing like life, or sets of twins. Or bones. Or beauty. It is literal skin, and soft, and wonder. It is literal good night Bed Time hands—so soft you feel guilty. It is literally I cannot stop holding you. It is literally hands into your hair.  You held a knife to my back and scraped the wax off so I sent it back and seething. It was literally such beautiful words and witches and needles and feathers and pens and phrases and motion that I could not wave my hand in that motion, in that motion that is supposed to mean   Goodbye. My Lady. My Moon-crest. Under Saturn’s stars, over their water, Through our eyes, with our eyes, with YOUR eyes. You Look At Me.