He smiled with an unpleasant sneer
that turned out a lascivious leer.
When her t-shirt came off
with a violet cough,
she was left standing in her brassiere!
Seeing and being seen changes both the looker and the looked upon. A watched clock seems to hold its breath, hands frozen, its self-consciousness exposed. A furtive glance, once stolen, lingers too long and ripens into a stare. Awareness slips into self-consciousness. The moment the watched one feels observed and the looker looks away, the game is up, and the power changes. The watched one now has control with their stare, commanding the field of attention. It's a see-saw game of self-consciousness; power flipping with each returned look. Every watching eye casts a shadow. It's a silhouette of exposure. It must acknowledge this, step into it, and learn to dwell within, hiding. The eye sometimes seeks to be noticed. It wants to evoke a reaction and show its presence, rebounding. In that mutual eye-to-eye recognition, love begins.
when eyes meet and hold,
attention flips from lost stares—
to love caught ensnared
You’re the dumb one, aren’t you? She asked me so beautiful, sweet.
Cee’Su was a looker, married to my first cousin Pete.
I did not reply, after all, what could I say?
Was she daft in the head? Is that why she tossed it that way?
She is the other one, my horrified cousin quickly told her.
The fat one, she guessed, which made her look amazingly older.
Cousin Pete thought she was hilarious, pretty the first two days.
Woman of God she informed us haughtily, stuck up in her ways.
I had never met a reverent woman who had such an urge to tell,
But she drew out proof constantly that we would be the ones going to hel....
Cousin Pete stopped talking to his mother because Aunt V refused to bow down
To the queen bee, who took him from us, they simply stopped coming around.
They raised some caustic children, hatefully mean and depressed, often blue.
Both of them ran to the grandma they had never met when they reached 22.
Yes Cee’Su was beautiful looker, Cousin Pete’s Woman of God.
When I meet her on the street I give her a swift happy wave and a nod.
M-oon looker at late night
I-s eager and awake;
N-ovember twelfth eventide
A-ims to ease the heartache.
D-arkness is brightened
U-nderneath the moonlight;
B-ecause of the bright rays,
L-ots of things are set aright.
I-n her sparkling eyes, calmness is in good sight;
N-o way will she be lonely, moon looker at late night.
His eyes stare beyond the high horizon, while his soul dances with the wild river. There he sleeps with the color of the daisies. He was struck with lightning that carried him beyond the endless sky. Beyond his thoughts he taken the moon and buried it deep in his pocket. He gazed beyond the mountains and walked in the misty valley. In the greenest forest he rolled with the garden leaves that left a sweet smell of honesty on his palm. Even the majestic caught him with tears.
Free as the wind that landed him in the center of the pearl and the nectar that swept across his lips. Engage by the beauty of sound he knows the imminent of joy rested well in his heart. Now the Onlooker is in slumber where his heart grows by the grape vineyard.
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