If only you’d take a glance at me. It could be disapproving. I would even settle for something disparaging, or something entirely disproportionate to how I feel for you. But, instead, you choose to send those twinkling globes into orbit. They’re these eonion sculptures denounced to night, criticisms, and an unfortunate ramble of falling short. I’d ask you to face me and to greet these issues as you would with the greatest of care…to dry clean, or set the tumble to low, or whatever. But you won’t. I’ll chase your reprehensible tongue with an outward sigh. And it makes no difference to imploringly look over, when your thoughts run rampant, and your mind is afeared. You think you’re a crook. But you’re not ready to meet with eyes that you’ve disappointed. And that tells me much more than your looking portals could ever say. Just because you’re notorious for the chasms painfully instilled deep within me, doesn’t mean you’ll keep manipulating the highways of my bloodstream, anymore.