Sunday, February 20, 2011

To Meet

We meet in the middle
With the purest of intentions.
Tip to tip,
And sometimes, limb to limb,
We look for ourselves
In the other's eyes.

But our pith,
They remain untouched,
And then we are surprised
At what we do not see.


Rebekah said...

Proust in a nutshell -- or rather, clothed in tree bark....

Cha sen said...

I like that, Rebekah.