But there is not one Who shines so bright as to dim your memory. Your voice Calls distantly from their throats. Every one that comes to me To cajole, whisper or impress Becomes a window Through which I see you. And they smile back, convinced that the pleasure in my eyes Is brought by their form. But it is not them I see.
Perspective is all.
And my intentions secure for another day. Tomorrow I will create another And unravel it, each tomorrow Until you return to my shore. Building a creation from which All that is seen is its daily destruction. It is a work that only I can see Its completion something only I desire. It is no matter.