10 Ways of Looking at Me

I
She walks around him with an open flame,
Hoping to light what hides beneath;
But he saves it for he who has no heat.

II
Between the whites and the pinks and the browns and the mochas,
There is yellow.

III
I wake, and he rubs his eyes.
A glimmer beneath the sheet,
Pulled over his mouth,
Smiles in our eyes and I see me.

IV
He fills in the negative, the dark, and the black,
with limbs in free-motion...
Colliding into bodies that do not find it humerus.

V
He asks for:
General Tsao.
Kung Pow.
Sorry sir, your flavour of the week is closed.
Cleared up shop, gone on home.

VI
I fly through the streets,
Words and notes streaming out of car windows,
Pulled down to let the wind in,
The friend of the free.

VII
My hair glistens beneath the streetlight,
Freezing beneath zero.
Catching up with my heart.

VIII
My words are kept,
Locked up in paper thin lead, unruffled.
A legacy of a boy who leaves no prints,
only shadows.

IX
I sleep through sunsets,
Waiting for sunrise to be cleaned.

X
The flame that never touched,
The flame that never sparked.
One was, one never to be.
I hope, for heat.