I stare at you, an empty page
you show me nothing, no words
jump like flares at my face,
perhaps, written in magic ink
are sounds that will fluoresce
when caressed by a scorching gaze.
I stare at you, an empty page
you make faces, but no letters
twinkle from your unfathomed space
perhaps, will glow in dusk
like fireflies, become apparent, dance
the phrases of your unspoken grace.
