Poetry

Blind Faith

Where did your eyes go?
Did they disappear
when my reflection
fell out of them?
Or are they still attached
to the girl I saw
them pursuing?

I miss the days
when your vision
was only marred by
the skunk you smoked,
and your pupils would
swallow me whole.

Now I am left with nothing
but the cold grey iris, which
was always jealous
of what we had anyway.

Charlotte Elmore