April 11, 2000: A poem written to my beloved

As I sit and feel the world spin beneath my world,
struggling to maintain control 
of a life that seems so wonderful, so majestic.

Future be told, by fortunes and plans,
this temporary dizziness is a reminder 
of the hardship required for a success --
a success that allows us to finally dream.

As this world slowly spins away from me,
shoving me into the emptiness that 
has always been myself alone, against the world,
fighting for my place on the edge of the circle,
on the edge of reality, on the edge of average sanity,
I am not alone.

You sleep at night, your perfect breath
raising your perfect chest,
your perfect skin glowing in the subtle half-light,
and I wonder what you see in these eyes of mine.

Do you see them shimmering with emotion,
like in bad animation to give characters a facade of life,
or do they contain hypnotic swirls that becon to you,
demanding that you succumb, release yourself to me.

Does it scare you that within them I can hide nothing,
that my world is truly open to you,
that within you might find out exactly how much passion,
how much love, how much life
simply awaits to touch of your light.

Perhaps you're afraid that I'll overwhelm you,
that the explosion will consume you,
that you could not absorb the fire that burns,
frolic with the beast that lives within my jungle,
and explore the facets of my ice crystal cave.

Perhaps you don't want to recognize that it's 
your face you see when you look deep into my eyes,
that it's how I really see you. 

Perhaps it scares you that I see inside of you,
that I love what I see there,
and that I try so hard to crack open those gems.

Perhaps it amazes you that there really is a pedestal,
and that you really are dancing upon it.

Or maybe this is what I see when I look into your eyes,
and I cannot being to comprehend what you could see in mine.