Words by Caleb Kazoglou
Seaglass Eyes.
I stare into my eyes in the mirror
and try to love them.
why try
do I have to try.
I am born loved.
Am I
born loved?
Once someone spoke to me of worth,
of earning my love;
no love
should exist
unearned ?
but
I
languish
in the deep sand ahead of me
rolling dunes, yellows and brown melded into a blurry hue.
I can’t describe this colour
but it is one encompassing
doubt.
I am driven
to love
brokenness and teary pride
— joy so loud smiles grow past the constraints of
my mouth,
eyes, creases like lightening that
trickle downwards
my jaw—
flickers of eyelids and lips
that serve as hugs
—and hug themselves.
In the mirror my eyes glint
greens and browns
swiftly skirting in and out of the other
some in waves, some speckles or flicks of paint.
they are not my mothers
not heirloom
not those of a seaside
or volcano foot
where air hasn’t floated
through the halls of my childhood.
Whose atoms wouldn’t know my blood’s claim to me
(not by my eyes)
as they do my mother.
I think they are beautiful
(when I dare to
I don’t know if they are mine).
I want more than surviving: Part I
Did you see the moon?
My glasses were fogged with last night
wonder, I
apparently am consumed by
your arm curling softly around my spine,
my mouth drawing in spring-like air from a room wrangled by warmth;
It’s magic I don’t understand
how we tore control from electricity.
Atoms bristle
by rules of their own,
perhaps rules we’re making.
I want more than surviving: Part II
It’s like touch hasn’t reached there before.
Your fingers twirl
tips ink that
dissipates into the softness of my thigh,
calligraphy hidden
or buried
to find when I’m in your arms again
or in bustling moments of the day
when they flourish piercingly into my chest
and I want to hold memories of you
in those same fingertips
mine
because you gasp for more too
though utterly full are the moments we steal together,
perhaps because
skin holds memory, but
I want it painted for others to see.
I want bird calls to remind me of us.
