My Finger on Your Cheek.

by John Grey.

There’s some out there
who labor over
hieroglyphics on ancient stone,
suckered in by the need to know
what just might be unknowable.

And then there’s your face.
In each expression,
a definite meaning
is not always implicit.

Instead, you provide me,
from your eyes to mouth,
with abstract images
into which both everything and nothing
can be read.

I’m fine with that.
I’ve stared at worse things than a paradox.
In fact, never better.

Why should I care
that no system of absolute intent
can be successfully assigned.
Besides, your face is loveliest
when indecipherable.

So everything and nothing applies.
I gently touch
where there is no sense to it.



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