Shining Marble Eyes

Green blades reflect the shine

of crescent moons. Where chilled

globes cling to the lip of the cup,

a red ridged stain hovers but cannot

quite leap to the creased page

in your diary. While both

sheets of crinkled foil cover both

eyes of the waitress, sunshine

cannot discolor that page.

Croaking frogs condense the chill

till it clatters and crashes not

two feet in your hands cupped.

That foreign chin shaped like a cup's

curved cusp narrows both

into a river and a knot

of tangled trees. Shining

marble eyes swivel toward chilly

drafts. You turned that page.

Untether the swollen pager

throbbing in sync with hiccups.

Your hands flake from the chill

like melting ice, peeling bark, or both.

Beads of moisture shudder and shine

along collars of leaves not

buttoned too tight. Nothing

like red ink swims laps on the page.

A glistening ruby's shine

splits into kaleidescope cusps.

A comet and a crayon both

smear across the night's chill

leaving white powder residue. Chili

bubbles on top an archaic stove not

covered. Feathers evaporate from both

the birds they came from and the pages

their quills glided upon. Moon shine

permeates through the gauze of foggy cups.

Flipping like windmills, both pages

act like shiny rotors clipping cups

not full of air but of chilled gasps.