Your hands

Show no scars

Yet when I try to read your palms

You close them in my face

As if  ashamed of them

I try to catch your eyes and

you  throw back your shock of hair

and laugh from the depth of your  throat

avoiding truth

with serious jokes

and so we stand

eyes   finally locked

into our sorrows

had there been snow on the ground

our crimson drops  would have blazed a trail

within the virginal whiteness

but  we  would never step onto that trail again

We already have

And when we  eye  each other

across the oceans of light

we  joke of  horses

while longing to be  as swift,

and we  rub our inner pains

unconsciously on each others backs.

If we touch

In the ultimate way

We may be released

But for now

We satisfy ourselves

With angelic smiles

And eat lesser foods

Not feeding our deeper selves

Starving ourselves

For no reason at all.

Except the fear of being  known

By someone else