Sight

Touch me. Besides these moist marbles that roll in the empty hollows of this face I have other eyes with which I see you. Touch me. The lantern of all my eyes will be lit by your hand. Touch me, with this very bodily hand of yours. My hidden eyes hidden from everyone’s eyes see -longing for the secret pool- the leaping of the mole crickets hidden in a corner of the plain in a corner of the night through the thousands of rounds the earth has turned, dry and burning, in the orbit of fire. The eyes of my lips see the hidden motion of your tongue writing the letters of "I want" against the roof of your mouth. I want! I want! The eyes of my fingertips on the other side of the rough broken bricks see you coming toward them with soft steps. The open eyes of my deepest well see you shining, like a flowing river of diamond, running through me. Put them out! the moonlight and lamps and candles of all your burning, impassioned poems; put them out! The arm sees the backstitching along the hem of the sleeve. The body sees the thin thread that has joined all the parts of its garment together. The heart sees its own living arteries. My eyes see you. Touch. Touch me! the way you would touch the thorny stem of a flower and in the end set a thornless red rose in your crystal glass. I see you on the wild, unfamiliar islands of endless dreams. All the particles of my body became eyes; I see you with the same eyes that all my dreams hidden from everyone’s eyes ... We are imprisoned behind the prison of skin and short nerves pressed together; even so I in the basement of the prison have found the door to a passage we will escape ... Touch me ... 20/8/1381