Cyclops

taking note
of the tiny little things
is what i'm for

so here we are
pointing out
the couch is comfortable
the lights are low
and you have taken off your glasses

as much as i hoped
to say you tasted like skittles
(impossible)
or toothpaste
(undetectable)
or what you mean to me:
whatever drags airplanes through the sky,
dutch tulips and digital roses
and warm warm hands
you don't taste like anything at all.

nothing except a perfect copy
of my own mouth
when I haven't drunk in a while
and the corners are sore from smiling.

we both saw it coming from miles away
foreheads, noses, then mouths together
and i couldn't help noticing
again and again
i could see  your eyelashes
your hair had fallen over your face
and i fixed it, laughing
because that's what i'm for