Touching the Eye
Touching you, your skin
so cold, flat, hard
the sickness within you
like muddy water after a downpour,
how could I stay. I could, I could not run...
from the death in your hollow eyes,
the limpness of your skeletal fingers.
Don’t run. Life seeks life,
succubus to the energy of kindnesses, chi.
Stroking your broad forehead
the horizon of beyond comes clear, clear to me.
Yet fear, is all you feel
and the wind of black holes, all you hear.
The eye of I, connects with the we of Thee,
momentarily, rosing a cheek
hesitantly, lifting the corner of lip
as you, through the we
remember He. Touching....
Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011
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