


In The Magazines
I never look as you do.
Could I ever be graced?
I wrap in your likeness
In hopes of opening a door;
The skeleton key granting presence.
Do you see what I see?
Inspect thoroughly…
Encircled by a storm of all the same,
A constant flood of you,
You, you, and you,
All the same.
The eye is peaceful…
So, I wrap in your likeness.
Could I be graced
Never looking as you?