Jealous of my Eyes

The silence that comes to my eyes

when they are closed

is one of which all other senses

are jealous.


At night,

my ears cannot ignore

fire engines,

and home security systems.


My tongue cannot ignore

the taste of my toothpaste,

or  the remnants of my late night snack

as I struggle to fall asleep.


My skin cannot decide

if I am too hot or too cold

if the blanket is itching me,

or if I just need

to relax.


No matter how ungodly the hour,

baking bacon and burnt toast

can wake me from my slumber,

my nose is immune to my brain’s protests.


But, with a swift slide of the lids,

my eyes can be immersed in darkness.

I can be alone in a bulletproof room

as far as the eyes are concerned.


What the other senses forget

(or choose to ignore)

is that my eyes are the ones who cry.

They cry because

when you crawl into bed,

and turn off the light,

that is where their day ends.


They cannot feel the warmth we share

beneath the sheets

they cannot smell your hair

as it brushes against my face

they cannot taste your candy lips

and they cannot hear you whisper

for me to come closer.


All of this magic

happens without my eyes knowing.

If they could see you in this moment

When you pull me close

And beg me nearer

I can safely say

I would never see the same again



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