Across the table, your eyes are an open book--
a fairy tale with a mysterious character.
Each flutter, a new chapter, flashing wildly
like the lights on the ambulance riding
madly on the opposite side of the road.
Across the desk, your face shows experience--
beautifully worn and handsomely shaped.
Femininity in your eyes with smudged blues
creating creases of color similar to an artist
painting contrast on a bland canvas.
Across the aisle on metro, a barrier remains.
When the train halts, crowds rush toward
the exit, and readily find their escape.
I look your direction, and see a weathered face.
Guide me out of this tunnel,
I trust your way.
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