She prepares a glass tube,
raising it to her eyes
when she flicks her hair,
the other end to mine.

Belatedly, I look away,
the curvature of passing
housing circulate about,
but her tube sharpens,

stabs, the barrel spinning
and ocular tension taut
and pinpoint pupils plunder,
lassoed, she attends me.

Still staring, smiles paint her face,
the tunnel widens so I can breathe;
dare I look away?
She might saunter

and shorten the glass tube,
planting smiles on me,
I must smash the glass
by searing the sight hot,

so hot the eyelashes burn,
and the tube melts to ether,
but her eyes reflect affection;
that which we desire most

in the souls of lovers.

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