The eyes of truth

Can you give me a looking back

that answers all my unsaid questions?

Find for me these silent words

I have secretly sent your way.

I want to see from your gaze,

answers in a grander scale.

For I asked,

what I have not grasped by thought,

yet deeply feel.

You have answered

by living through my question

and beyond that moment into now.

You had taking note

of what and where and how

it came to me to ask of you.

For I only have the sum of these words

forced out of me

from the lack of insight,

and lost composure from within.

For me, it is a broken riddle,

felled from a forgotten forest within

that rings true

yet now lying there

burning to represent a light

against my darkness.

The light of it opens

to say it to me in flames

and you by that gaze,

are both the laughter without cause,

and a landscape of persistent patience,

for growth to not know of its yield,

for rotting to migrate into results,

for light and dark to sibling the same story,

for confinement to express expansion,

for questions to become implements,

for feelings to arrange

precipitously as willing thoughts,

for a reversal of ground figure

to undress these secrets,

for silence to be found decoded

and not mute in residence,

for all the unsaid-ness of these tenants

invisibly woven in a confounding elixir

within the alchemy of my truths.

They pass on to me

through your eyes,

these beams, without color or space.

The feeling to me

is for us to be of the same lungs,

Siamese like,

yet split locations of outward exhale.

While we have the same breath returning,

the same cadence upon reflection,

the same feel sharing space,

coming on together to the brain trust

from the surge of oxygen.

There is a snug of hysterical closeness

where molecules with emotional lips

are in the awe of funny awkward kisses,

like a big bucket of grubs,

newly scooped

from their constant diet of nutrients

but as for me appear as kissing lips.

We as those lips are hardly distracted

by relocation or the light of day.

We are, for right now,

the lungs of choice.

These are the lungs of us,

coupled and confirmed

by body heat generated between us

and the distinct wake up call

of our fulcrum physical closeness.

Oh bring on the recluse spider bites

to common our pool of separateness

into that one festering smile,

the one decomposing soup of bliss,

that rot of joy

leaving behind the distraction

of separate bodies facing up,

eventually into one evaporative means

of shared soul,

confirmed through the humor of exodus,

relinquishing then all forms of excuses,

we, to phantom the one being

in the eyes of truth,

whole again

and always onward in expansion

through upward spirals ascending

upon this radiant cadence

beaming of reflection and return . . .