I see your eyes flash and spark, like pyrites in a mirror pool, as you appraise and reflect and challenge.
I see your two lips part and stretch and come together, like clouds shaping a winter sky, as you laugh and speak and approve disapprove.
I see your hands dive and soar and come to rest, like airborne mating birds, as they articulate the strength of your inner passion.
I see your buttocks move in contoured concert under denim, as they guide you expertly, like a schoolteacher, through the crowded market and across the teeming street. Your ankles like swans in a nest of reeds.
I see the pout of your sex, tight against the second skin, as you sit, alert but at ease, sharing my space and my thoughts. Too close but not close enough.
I see you are a river, seeking the lower land fall, strong and supple and never resisting, sometimes barely moving, sometimes flowing fast and rippling with white foams of energy and purpose.
I see the distant shore which is the ocean that is the rest of your life. You will reach that shore and you will pour out and become absorbed in that ocean that is the rest of your life. An infinite ocean of depths and shallows, of storms and serene calm, of migrations and of homecomings.
I want to wade out into the middle of that river and feel the surge against my skin and the push of your resolve and stand firm against the evasions and thrusts of your waves of desire and reticense and try to catch you in my two hands as you slip between my fingers with ripples of laughter, cool and white on the surface of your water.
And I see all this not with my clear blue piercing sightless eyes. I see all this with my third eye. My inner eye. My mind’s eye. The eye that sees in the dark, that sees through cloth and through skin and through smiles and through laughter, right into the centre, the very centre. The eye that will never fail or fade or falter. The eye of the real reality.