Eyes.

Cry,
I would if I had
any moisture left.
Breathe,
I would if I could snare
any air with my lungs.
Focus,
I would if I could whelm
the storm you spring in me,
the life you deliver
that slays my death.

Thank,
I would if I could collect
my thoughts
spilled on the floor.
Contain,
I would if my heart would stop
rattling like a marching drum.
Rise,
I would if my knees didn’t beckon
plant your kisses
at the foot of her hill.

Love,
I will labour to craft you
a masterpiece;
Time,
I will quarrel with you
all my days;
Joy,
brings me home to hear
the most elegant song;
Brown,
the eyes to which
my heart belongs.

© Rylan Skelly, January 2019


About the Author: I have a B.A. in Honours Religious Studies from the University of Waterloo and I love all major world religions – Eastern, Western, or in between. I’m genderqueer, and I’m comfortable with male, neutral, and female pronouns. I’m married to my dear wife Lynn, who is the love of my life, my best friend, and my muse. I think far too much, and often have too many ideas to know what to do with. And I am a doing being, just like you!

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