I’ll think about
your green eyes
inside of stairwells,
the small spaces off to the side
where I imagined
holding you once.
Or,
inside of an elevator.
The yellow light
reflecting off of our skin,
making it look warm,
making it light up
and glow
like
all of the synapses,
valleys,
gulfs,
and trenches
of my brain:
a landscape filled
with land mines,
places
you cannot face.
Places
you
would
not
make it out of
alive.
I’ll think about your
uneven eyebrow
under streetlights,
in empty parking lots.
Holding your hand
for a split-second
to avoid getting lost
inside of my own mind.
Or,
inside of a crowded market.
How you close your eyes
slightly when you’re feeling
shy.
My entire body
sweating
for the rest
of the night.
A landscape filled
with land mines,
places without excavation.
Places you would
not
survive.