Your eyes are too careful, collecting it all - arranging it all; surgically, robotically, exactly. i can’t look at you right now, but that doesn’t matter because you can look at me, and the longer that i don’t return your gaze, the harder that your gaze starts to run across my back... like a nervous policeman’s hands: brisk, intent, anxious for discovery. if discretion is a fortress, then you’re threatening to destroy it, by simply standing at the gates and refusing to leave. i can’t look at you right now.
- but you can look at me.
do you see me?
do you see me?
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