At times, you make me feel like
you are looking right at me
And I swear, for fleeting moments,
that in your eyes I see myself
so clearly as nothign more than
beauty reified,
like a pearl white flower
Basking in the warmth
of the sunlight you afford.

But when I call out to you,
I hear nothing but a shallow echo
words vibrating, trapped in the vacum
between a soul and a sheet of glass
or day light and a dream.
And no longer can I distinguish between
reflection or reality, love and truth
I don't even know
who is who.

How can things change so quicly,
is perspective such a fickle friend
It must be, that I get lost
among the interplay of beams
and shadows, angles and intensity
that interfere with refraction
and bring me distorted,
and even unrecoginizable to you.

Should I seize those perfect instants,
blossom for you to look at and reach for
and be real, in the aestic sense,
and hold on to that sense of truth
until I disappear and inevitably wilt alone
Or should I climb up, inhabit tower
to watch, higher, though hidden
as your drown alone.

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