You Look At Me (I)

We became drunks one night flying around all Buzzed and Lovely and
Beautiful. Because we were together and tender and soft and subtle
and that night—we taught each other Lullabies. We made ourselves
our Own answers, and I taught you how to become alive inside of
another body. How to outsource your heart. It is nothing like life,
or sets of twins. Or bones. Or beauty. It is literal skin, and
soft, and wonder. It is literal good night Bed Time hands—so soft
you feel guilty. It is literally I cannot stop holding you. It is
literally hands into your hair.  You held a knife to my
back and scraped the wax off so I sent it back and seething. It was
literally such beautiful words and witches and needles and feathers
and pens and phrases and motion that I could not wave my hand in
that motion, in that motion that is supposed to mean  
Goodbye. My Lady. My Moon-crest. Under Saturn’s stars, over their
water, Through our eyes, with our eyes, with YOUR eyes. You Look At
Me.