Oculus

i can taste his smile
his laugh is sugary with cream
i can smell his complexion
his face is a fragrant dream

alone now,
i want to be hugged in the tone of his voice
put those sleepy whining eyes to bed
they taste brown like comfort bread

those eyes sometimes closing dirtily like trash lids
or falling, gracefully, yet unwillingly
like the sun behind the sky
like velvet curtains to the stage
like goodbyes

those eyes
when they open like treasure chests
spewing orbs the color of brown skin
i want to reach out and caress them
softly, to sleep

Helen

he came in,
said
"what's for dinner"
she had been through
many men
yet
he was the winner
he had a good job
no kids
and didn't hit her
unless,
she spoke too long
to the grocer,
his pants were
too starched, or
she looked away
when he talked
then he hit her,
to keep her in place,
but
never, never
in the face.
he asked again,
"what's for dinner"
she met his gaze
slowly
head bowed to God
with lifted eyes
"peas...and porkchops, fried"
I saw her gazing
maybe wishing
in the window like a mirror
and said,
"Mama, you're so beautiful,
you're killing yourself."