Turn



Early on you taught me,

     remember.

Your hand, butter biscuit warm

reached out to

feel my shadow

until my face turned to you,

     looking,

tasting your sweet breath.

When we talk,

look to me,

          not there

     - here.

I do,

peering in -

teetering with toes to the edge of

a deep canyon where stars

hide until you bid them

rise.

Green and brown stares lock,

mixing in water colors of

unspoken meaning,

perfections of clarity.

Lips moved,

glasses clinked,

eyes spoke.

     Worlds turn,

     leaves turn,

     so do pages in a family album.

Autumn came,

life left your eyes,

bits of me were lost in

pixel reduction,

hovering between opaque

and transparent.

Walls blur,

furniture mixes,

I am solvent, blended

into my surroundings.

Relative to you, I

can't move from your six,

every contact a mere deflection,

     glancing.

Your face is a reflection in

the windows you stare out of,

or a monitor screen,

a faint glow from

a smart phone

buried in distraction.

Conversation is lean,

the functional passes in

efficient phrasing about

     pickup times,

     appointments,

     and to-do lists

while

I silently ask every part

of you

not your face

to

turn.

©Eusebeia Philos 2013

Posted for dVerse Poets OpenLinkNight - 87

Photo credit: Photo Pin