vintage

you had mortars
in your eyes
lighting up visceral visage
showing
concrete planes
of hardened insecurities
made flesh
you are
beautiful
even on your frail state
medusa faced and so unprotected
I ran my fingers through your snakes
praying you would grace me
with a stare
a whisper
other than scales on jagged flesh
but
your glasses
were too shiny
glaring and cold
for the likes of me
trapped and hopelessly
hoping
always
for something more than
these stonefaced whispers
unbeknownst to the chessboard
I was standing.on
please forgive me
I guess
I
wasn't planning
for a coup.