My Glasses in the Back of My Head

I am
near-sighted, yet looking out far
into the future, temporarily independent,
possibly improbable
like the desire I keep
behind my eyes.

Faces, I see them
as I walk the hallways in college -
blurred circles and triangles
as common as clouds and trees,
while I am walking
and thinking too deep.

But when I wear my glasses,
everything is clearer.

I see the beauty of someone's face.
Those curious eyes, staring by a glance,
looking away
hiding the guilt
of keeping desire within
like a rebel in hiding.

My eyes possessive
as I try to own whatever I see.
The mind and heart,
trying to grasp and contain
that reflection,
a photocopy of the real thing.

There is too much truth
to see than bear.
The reality of rejection,
those echoes - distance
as I try to reach out.

The eyes are free to taste
but I could never afford.
Fine surface, a marketing tool,
inventing needs and desires.

The product chooses its buyer.
There is much love to be wasted.

I like to keep my glasses broken.
There is too much detail; image-blurred
to maintain distance,
to avoid the sparks of desire through glasses
that I may not be stabbed
by the pain of loving from afar.