by Andrea M. Newton

How do you make your eyes slide off me
so easily, like water from a rain-soaked window
that's had its fill, and wants no more?
My own search you out, in any crowded room,
past eyes that smile, and grins that invite,
and delirious waves that only get in the way.
Are you blind to everyone else but me?
Are you invisible to their smiles,
their casual laughs that cheat me,
cheat you, out of a jealousy that I should own?
Our life is a minefield, pockmarked, scarred,
with bumps and lumps of freshly turned dirt.
Which ones have I set, and which have you?
I can't picture us any other way. Even now,
your eyes are my oblivion, denied me
as you gnaw some unfortunate peach
plucked ripe from a grocer's shelf. Its flesh
is mine, its juice the salt-tinged rust
of my blood that you let streak
a warrior's declaration down your throat.