Monday, July 10, 2017

The Look

His eyes,
squinted to some incalculable degree,
tricks you into thinking that you've got something insightful to say:

"What?!" is all you chuckle up.
"Nothing," is his response.
He smirks and continues to stare.

What does this fucking look mean and why does it make you want to measure his spleen, clean his tongue to embrace the debri, carve out a space in his heart
where you'd fit perfectly?

The Look,
looks the same on every face, but
We both know you:
Too afraid to stick around
to discover
if what you believe the look to mean,
is true.

You always leave before they do.


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