round revolutions around your eyelids let the light fall in little beams to the pupil, dancing in circles. you are curved as a lens and you refract my words in and out of your ears.
i'm lost. even light can't escape from you; they reflect back and forth, in frantic circles. you're edgeless but sharp, slicing me like a blade with no handle.
there are slow, sweet marks swirling on your arms, moving carefully with the thrum of the earth's core-- the cuts from the sharp blade you're made of, crawling in your veins.
so we keep treading this path. i think it will never end and we'll end up repeating all our mistakes and it will never change. but you think one day circles will break into squares and we can walk straight off the fence and into paradise. one of us is lying.
lies falling from your mouth and collecting in red pools, to be stored in glass jars locked deep in the whirling paths of the mind; i feel them when you're not looking. when we're exploring our own labyrinths and i feel the draft issue from the peak of your throat. feeding off my round tears that somehow taste like taffy.
you are fluid and you are stone. your mouth spouts endings and your tail is only the start. you're a one way maze, there is no hope. you cast halos and voids, making me fly and fall and free fall and fall again. in the end, we're all falling and you'll be perfect.
a perfect circle hiding in your old brittle bones. we've no endings, no beginnings, we always just are, built out of paper and sand and seams. endless seams all down your legs but they don't stop there, they turn and pry themselves right back up to where they began. arose. you are the thread of my seams and to pull you apart from me would be like unraveling myself, loosening and tearing the strings to a knotted heap on the floor. that would be the end, and we both know there's no such thing as endings.
there is no beginning either. you're almost a dream, with your january burnt into december. i couldn't hope for light because you'll just make it blind me. i couldn't hope for later because there is none. there is no mystery but i can't stop wondering what secret you're keeping.
i am blind because through the curving curtains there is no way to see. maybe you don't have a secret and i've been trying so long to uncover it from the film on your eyes. i just want to lay in the sea and let it carry me around the world through the revolutions of sunrises, moonrises. life.
but then every after-dark is a sunrise, so nothing will ever stay the same. could you tell me when you'll let go of yourself and string your feelings out so they're all straight, and let me out of your tightening embrace? because circles can't ever be broken unless its east can leave its west.