dry eyes

such a short time
since you've met
and yet
you believe his skin
must be made of chamomile:
green and clay-like
just one texture
as if it were all burned off
and new skin attached
more like a leather shirt
than soft protein::
you feel so calm around him
relaxed and comfortable

all you want is to touch him
feel his skin
his clothes and hair
every time you're together.

he cut you open tonight
dull scalpel down your front
Y-incision like a mortician
or an "I" like dissection.

he raises questions others don't
you hear it from his voice
but mostly
you see it through his eyes

a pause
to take a breath
or a break
but you didn't wait long enough:
a glance through his eyes
and then you left
like smoke sucked through a vacuum

and you fall deeper.