i see you,

and

i don’t.

i can see

the shell of

a human being,

you are outlined in

the roses and the

soft grays of

your coat

and your

long, fine

hair.

i cannot see

what fills you;

are you sweet,

stranger?

your eyes are blank.

are you honey and clover,

or fire

and ice,

the whitest of whites?

stranger, i want

the ocean in

which

you, a mystery, a shell

float so delicate,

to wash you up,

into my hands,

these childish,

empty cups

are begging

for some change.

will you pay up,

stranger?