Turn over and stare, let it move, curve, wrap around me.
Don’t open or it leaves…leaves you raspy and dry as autumn.
But don’t close either, it can fade…will fade, wilt like a fallen leaf.
Press it, nudge it, flesh against flesh, and that fire will
Leap, bound, milky white yet dark as can be.

Turn again and there it is, but why?
It ebbs and flows, washes over and shows me…
Shows me what?
Not knowing why is the only way I am.

Keep looking…no, never looking…something else.
They say you can see without seeing, but is this what they mean?
How does this exist inside me without ever knowing?
Then it fades, stretches, and in a sudden burst is something else.
But once again I ask why, why when I know why…

Because it is I and it is you, and it will fade, vanish, leave if you open…
Leave if you close.
Either way you alight upon this incandescence.
Follow it down that endless passage, beginning to feel warm.
And you know it will leave in the end but does that matter when you are?
When you aren’t its that horrible shade of black you always try to escape.

Turn over again and it’s gone.
What does that matter when you aren’t?