Greeneye
Filtering through the pupils, round-
ing out the image. Curving
out
the niches in her, statuesque.
Marble, white over the
green. Light,
not heat. Spite, not burning anger.
Red, the soft
flames of her hair
Red, the hard beat of my heart.
The
bloodshot greeneye image
at three o'clock in the morning,
the turning clock. The moving hands.
Marble becomes me; you are
warming
somewhere else. Touch the stone.
I have no right to want you as I do.