Eyes on Fire

It is hard to see
quite literally-
I have, in my way
the cloudy mask of
what makes a spring
inspiring
buds and flowers
and Opera scores
an angry director
and the ticking clock of my heart
which aches for
someone to tell me “It’s okay”
the strong arms of a hug
that isn’t begged for in some way.
I can barely see-
and it hurts to try
I avert my eyes
or close them
try to lubricate them with
tears or ointments or petals of flowers
but burning there
beyond the surface
that is both dry and red,
is the real pain
lost, so lost
behind the smile I always have for you
ever so much more
yours
than anyone ever dared to be
behind my eyes
lies
the reasons why
that you will never see.

Ever Virgin.