Think me unknowable?
You transpose yourself upon me.
Am I a blank canvas
For you to throw your hatreds, your passions, and your fears upon?
Am I not a world too;
The softness of lips pressed to a cut on the finger.
A simple solicitude,
A tactile tenderness,
A syncopated hum of pleasure;
Exhultation in a speck of light whether in the eye of a dew drop or a trillion light years away.
Or shall I attenuate myself?
Shall I stand stout in my bearing.
So that you may see yourself,
And only yourself
In the empty mirror of my eyes.
What are you?
And where am I?
The message lost
in the expanse you lay between us.
In a dew drop.