Slenderman sight, just behind my eyelids,
As the tuba player is gasping for silence.
Your eyes find me wanting
Into the small details of my skin
Pliant under the familiar green.
I could guard myself as a secret
And invent one more alphabet of runes
To decipher the obvious.
Yet, you’d need less of a key, barely a touch
To unmask all purposeness.
Into beat blue shards of autumn,
Our early summer is late.