Gift

My eyelids are closed. Did existence offer darkness to my eyes? My fingers move my arms move toward the place where I hear the sound of your breaths toward your face. Under my fingertips: in all the lines of the thousands upon thousands of grooves of my skin: is your forehead, the curve of your eyebrows, your trembling eyelids, your tear-wet lashes: tears, tears the stream of your tears pours into all the thousands upon thousands of grooves of my fingers. It runs into my heart it comes into the pupils of my eyes in the pupils of my eyes a fully colored hundred-petaled rose blooms. Did existence offer darkness to my eyes? My eyelids are closed, under the earth. From my earth the stems of golden hundred-petaled roses are growing: on every petal: your face...