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?