Your outline
with hair of charcoal
towers over me
feeding an image of a giant shadow
walking the wall

My arms have become serpents
your eyes are cameras
reflections from electric sun.
Dark eyes eclipse
all knowledge, all memory.

The sense of touch
guides us through our blindness.

This is soft terrain, easy ground
for a well-rehearsed adventurer

My arms have become serpents
your eyes are cameras
one opens, the other closes
both converge.