the first time i see your
drilling eyes
i am unwrapping a mint
crunching cellophane between
the tips of my fingers
and crunching ‘immense flavor’
(overexcited commercial advertising)
between my teeth and the shock of your glare
i remove the noise and my gazes
and i
i am drawing you
with brown pastel

after i finish your portrait
half shadowed and half mad
we sit hand in hand
what is it about ‘shhh’ in this library
that draws deep secrets
and your hand to mine?

eight months of watching the snow fall
into leaded glass of the library’s windows
and sunshine
filtering out the sandy from the golden
in your hair

i am drawing you again
and again at a distance
your glare absent and yet
the fact remains that my hand is empty again
i am sorry
if my charcoal scratching
unsettles you.