Le papillon à trois yeux

(i)
From one eye I lie. Handle words
   like body parts, whisper darling

through unheard air. Voice shut-off &
   gentle, fresh as new year’s promise.

My she-reflection looks back
   at me. I am not sure what side of

the glass I am on. Ma petite misère,
   she smiles Don’t you just love the taste

of endings? Between the deep red
   eye of the sun and hers, I quiet.

I say it again but very faintly.

(ii)
From the other eye, I tell what little
   truth I possess, pluck it from the

depths of me. Call you darling hoping you
   will hear it. It crumbles before touching you.

In this stillness again I try. I want you to know
   the truth. The air is clammy, dark, thick with unspoken

tension begging for a leakage. In this stillness I
   break and break it with me, mottle lethargy

with confession. I draw your name,
   find its center line. It croons in my

lips like an anthem, nests in the soft wetness
   of my tongue where it belongs. In the drenched

brine smell of your sleep, I breathe
   again. You’re as mine as water. We

both know that. Awake you turn to me: what
   would this love look like, translated to truth?

It has not doors nor wings. We both
   look outside. Blackbird aches of unbeing.

I steal its flightpath, give it to you.

(iv)
Your nakedness draws us into safety,
   Hand draped over my waist, woman

inseparable from shadow. These night
   dances soften our edges. Movements

amplified by the dark, smooth and
   translucent like seaglass. My skin is

sticky and warm. I don’t want to be holy.

(iv)
The sun is bruised on my thighs & Oh,
   baby: is your heart not stone? Will you

look to the eye that looks at you?