Thus wounded, I am perhaps
far more alluring to you than if my skin
had parted from my bones more easily,
when having attached us at the eyes,
in the eventual attempts at distancing
you tried to take the memory
of my skin as partner to your receding presence.
You always mistook the look
in my eyes for beauty.
But I think its been something else for longer,
closer to the latent finger of foresight
stirring a trail behind my temples.