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Not About You

Not about the way
you spread your fingers across your mouth,
playing shocked, then laughing.

Not even about your hair, straw.gold,
that moves across your forehard,
a mantle for northern paleness.

(Some lines will now be intentionally deleted,
due to the respect of anonymity) .

Don`t mention the code words,
the putting of rings besides soapy dishes,
eyes tired as the days wind down.

Speak not of cups rattling,
as you carefully sort china,
steam rising for tea.

Forget the shutters falling with a bang,
the cold east wind thwarted,
light shining through curtains, almost candelic.

Not about you,
just the slight perception of a dweller, a shadow,
my looking.

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