BEICJDD
If you put a plastic penguin on its side
(the type that waddles
when you wind it up)
it spins, pivoting round its feet.
Sometimes I lose track of myself.
I might stare ahead,
taking different ranges of focus,
or I'll look at a lightswitch
and remember my old bedroom carpet.
Your hairs,
each one sticks out differently
and catches the light
to look its own color.
I was staring at the side of your head
two nights ago; I wonder if it made you nervous.
I was on the point of diving in,
swimming through your hair.
I love you.
I think you're beautiful.
I can hardly ever look at more than one thing at a time.
I just isolate it
and then fall into it.
Some days I can't see rooms;
just windows, corners,
the pattern of a couch cushion.
When I was in photography class
I would take pictures of
drains and broken benches.
I have one of a fire alarm.
My short stories are never longer than three pages.
Moments.
Once you asked me why
I thought your eyes were beautiful.
I don't know.
Maybe it's because they seem genuine,
because I can look at them for hours
and never pick up
a hint of a lie.
Maybe it's just because I love you
and I couldn't believe
that your eyes would be
anything but beautiful.
I don't think it's important.
I've never known why anything was beautiful.
I just get lost,
and you are someone
that I can be pleasantly lost in.