The eyes have it.
What I see is what I aye.
They edited the way i spelled 'love' in the confessions of those would-be nights of us-ness, as if my life was a piece of their published genius. They told me, I'd have to see and learn and break exactly how the legends in the field have, if it were all to mean anything. They told me there was a rule to how all this worked, that the heart would break into exactly 999.9 pieces, shapes might vary though. (Well, thank god for that!) They told me I wasn't what I thought I was when I was the most me in your arms.
I hiccuped endlessly to word out the mushy goo in my head, to unsay the sighs they mistook for words of conformation, within every jerking cell of my body raising an urge to connect the dots quicker than I ever would imagine to be possible.
Hurriedly, yet ever-so tenderly,
I pluck out my eyes-
yes, those beautiful brown eyes,
for I can aye no more.