YOU TOUCH HIS FACE, YOU SMOOTH HER BROW...


You look away from others eyes. You look away from pain and understanding. You also look away from smiles and sparkles - it's the way with things. You touch his face, you smooth her brow, with these gestures you open the doors, you break the cords and bow towards demons and angels. You sit in the chair but never look in the mirror...those eyes. So you glance at hands, and cheeks, and the blades that are shoulders, and you smooth her brow, and you touch his face. These are the gestures of knowing, of understanding without knowing, of feeling without investment. You stand at the doorway and stare unfocused at trees, and grass, and sky, and soot. Landscapes before you are everything and nothing. Scapes are constructs of imagining, constructs of longing for the always. You turn and touch his shoulder, you smooth her breast. They smile back at you, but with a smile as unfocused as your landscapes. They mean nothing and everything, understanding and confusion. You lie on the bed, hands folded on your chest, staring at the ceiling, following the cracks...unknown and disjointed. So you touch his face, and smooth her brow...with gestures.

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