You Never Looked

You never nudged me
When I was half asleep
So I’d open my eyes
And close them again
Right after you fogged
Them with your breath.
You didn’t use
Their moisture
To paint a watercolor.
There were times when
I wanted you to puncture my eyes
With toothpicks and pull them
Out like olives at fancy parties.
Or collect my blinks one by one
Like petals from a flower
Saying He loves me,
He loves me not, he loves me…

I thought you just needed
An atlas to find my eyes,
And once you found them,
You’d exhume them
With your tongue.
Or you’d find my eyes eventually
The way an astronomer
Finds a planet after years of search.
But no, you knew the coordinates
Of my gaze, just never looked.
Honestly I don’t remember
Your eyes either.
Your eye sockets are empty in my
Dreams so just to
Make you look better
I fill them with
Loose change from my pockets.
Or chewing gum I planned
To stick under a chair.