Because I’ve seen the glance of desire
(your eyes, blurry mirrors) I might never
again distinguish your image from mine.
And because I’ve seen those eyes
reflect an other’s face like ice
I can’t quit craving the intoxication
of your proximity. After all some truth lies
in simulated utopias too simple to access.
There we shout at its abyss. We use
what we’re given to lessen suffering
—less close to the source of suffering—
every day confounded by our existence
on this planet that will exist without us,
our need to possess, to be possessed.