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.