Everything is fiction.
Whose life is not?
Except your eyes.
Their dialogue between us
is true.
They are more literate
than words.
At night I look for your eyes.
Black as black,
they have light.
Optics that create
what is seen.
I see my house
because you see it.
I am reminded of time
because you see it pass,
because you ignite it.
I see my place as home,
instantly written,
by your eyes.
Where your eyes are not,
I do not exist.
The candle of my heart blown out,
life become fiction.