His soft jaw lies
unmoving cradled by
the cupped palm that is
her dominant right hand.
My mother,
My father,
their touch
holding one another up.
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collaborative edit of poem by bw
Eyes, staring blithely, hungry,
sharks baring teeth, the whites of the eyes
asking if they'll be fed.
Corneas masked in split seconds
by covetous eyelids, exploding with need like supernovas
diminishing the loneliness of the subsequent darkness.
Nothing beyond those ovals
but an engine begging for more fuel
to power an inexorable wanting.
Their beauty is tenuous, as
they are looking inward, and they
shall never grasp exactly it is that I want.
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