you’re not like, my love, those who serve their sights

you’re not like, my love, those who serve their sights,
dancing with anyone, pupils racing;
and boughs of light leak from every love smile,
their service is ugly the brighter they are;
stolen lost and found artifacts of life,
remnants of choice like lofty greening smoke
rising to the skies, or sweet quips sweet sung,
devoured by hungry hearts and souls
who redden like streams of running metal
at the sight of themselves in a mirror

you dive in, to come up for air and sun-
light to shine over gems and pearls you find.
(or, hold your breath forever to your word
and only those ones you love in our world.)

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