What Watches and Fears

When he stirs it,
I feel it spread in my blood,
Rise,
In spreading liquid tension.

He is his veins
That meet the skin.

What beats in deep throbs?

When to-
Does he have eyes?- when to
Close my eyes into this place.
This is his silence.
When does the frozen moment slip,
Slip, into the sweet nectar of need.

This is what it means to be powerless.

He looks back over me.

There is a thick marrow
They find pieces of my confession here.

Did they review it that way,
with quiet eyes? quiet eyes
that have known exactly the size of their power.

What is the slow lift
of the body
and the diagonal silence
Across the harmony wind?

Where are the eyes?

The eyes of him that will always open blankly,
Because this is turning away.
What looks at secrets?
The hands, the lips, the tongue of exposure.