This language of life
    resonates within your pupil;
my fingers ache with resolve
    when I see vast worlds
on the brim of your eye.
    A tear holds tales in rhythm,
your slightly slim grin of reason
    masks the waiting meter in time.

I look into two crystal seers.
    They float pain on the surface
Showing fear,
    showing mirrors, showing me.
Two aqua orbs swirling clairvoyance,
    staring in me through her;
crying clairaudience outward, onward:
    "What to write...write about us!

We're creamy cyan dreams!
    Gorgeous impossibilities!
Only twiddling tip-toes away
    from your keyboard's rain."
I can't behold their equity,
    their reflective integrity,
sounding burrowed attentively,
    within too beautiful unwritten eyes.