Pinhole

It’s a tiny puncture
That closes up for days.
But when it rains or there’s
Too much humidity in the air,
It opens up again
And I peek in with one eye.
You’re still in there, smiling,
Because smiles are
Your favorite shape.
You recline on a blurry bed,
Surrounded by mirrors
That reflect past moments
From the only two days
We ever embraced.
There must be huge
Windows around you,
Because you’re so overexposed
You look like you’re in a
Hotel room on the sun.
You tease me by changing
Into your newest dress:
It’s tight and black, with a
Pattern in the shape
Of the neural paths
I’ve devoted to you.
Later you prance about
With your charred bellybutton,
Writing love poems
In the air
With your butt.
You pat my whispers like
Little pets, then blow them back.
Other times, you get serious
And talk about how you’ll return,
How you’ll make it
Back through the pinhole.
It won’t be easy to
Climb or claw your way through,
But you promise to do it
Once you’re strong.