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To The Boy With The Saddest Eyes EverOf course, I hear the stories; they fall from the tongues of drinking pals – parties that last forever, the boy so smashed he spent the night wrapped in a carpet, or woke up days after the first beer, dizzy, in the bed of some beauty who’d already stolen his watch, rings, heart. A reflection of a soul, I’d shine his eyes like diamonds, bathe them in saline, or roll them in my hands like a die, if it would help. But no amount of boiling, no amount of alcohol would revive the tenderness in his eyes. And no amount of polishing might brighten the legends that precede him like Cyclops, like Lear. For the boy wants what we all want, wants what my lover has found in me - a fable; a spark; a stranger’s glare meeting his across a crowded room. Most of all, he wants a soft heartburn that will see him right for life. |
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