ShE AlloWEd mE tO steAl gLanCES
I lEt hEr HeAR mY PoEtRy
sHe ReMAinS THe oNly one that’s heard
AnD i ThE onE thAt sEes
For one man ogling, he is a sleaze. She won’t entertain his lustful eyes for a moment, not even a look at a button.
For another, she’ll let him undress her with his eyes. She lets him because he sees beyond her skin, even though her skin draws him in. He’s truly kinaesthetic, functions by touching her, but he doesn’t use his hands.
It’s his words, he touches her with his parlance-diction, her sweat knee affliction.
And she devours him whole. He doesn’t talk to women. What would they know? He lends not his tongue to their ears because they are empty chambers, soulless, nothing of them resembles retaining, he remains a layman to the outer world. Inside, he contains his volcanic eruptions for her ears only. She is the microphone that amplifies his voice for the world to hear in perfect colour painted pitch, reverberate until mountains tremble in nostalgic recognition of yet another ancient son.