Between the Lines
My eyes wake to another morn,
dream crusted, the night's deposit
leaving its residue.
Eyes closed, I warm them
with the wetness of cloth,
pressing hard enough to redden,
but gently enough to leave no scar.
Dreams washed away,
another day to cover in baby steps,
hoping I have learned to walk forward
and only looking back to remember, where once I came.
"Love is not blind - It sees more and not less, but because it sees more, it is willing to see less."