Photeine

I love you, which is a metaphor for the clear fuel
your eyes have.  The screen has to be moral
to be transparent, your neck being behind you,
like a person.  It opens as if I am
always about to intend an act, that it does
is grace; I could go into the field with both of my hands
and the field slightly on them,
like the scent of metal
or seeing a face with no tense.

I would be coincident
with a hologram,
the accident of it being like a color
as if hands are colored.  I promise to surveil you
because the image is what is beautiful.