Old Eyes

You have become a museum object,

ancient, like an artifact.

You are something to behold,

but never to be held.



I could speak to you, let myself be known,

but I won't!

How many times in my bedroom mind

did you seduce me?

You were the North Star penetrating,

setting my soul ablaze.

You were a glacial object,

yet desire erupted within me.

But when dawn was born in the sky,

the pillow besides mine remained untouched.

Now, what are you! -- a lifeless sepia still!

As we pass each other, our old eyes meet,

you hesitate, I suspect you may place me.

We move on.

It doesn't matter.

You are not my 'you' anymore.

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