Language of the eyes

We don’t know we are numb until we start to feel
We don’t know we are blind until we begin to touch.
Even in my sleep I picture the longing in your eyes
You want to put your hand over mine,
Tell me well planned words that neither offend nor inspire How can you breathe in a world without poetry?

I wake up from every dream with a new determination
Next time you try to take my hand
I will drag your whole being into the mess of me
Show you nothing good can come of a pile of neatly folded words
An incompatible key to a door that goes nowhere

Tell me you thirst for me, that you can’t live without me
That “you have to have me or you’ll die”
Then offer me your hand and let me look at you,
Even though we know,
When our eyes lock, all speech is washed away..
And the prose begins through the language of the eyes.