alternate ending

I like this one. I like the way
that you look at me in it.

The irreversible turn
of your head and then
behind us the darkness
of laughter beginning,

or not followed where
your hand falls and I'm
somehow saying it to
you, even back then.

"I like this one. I like the way
that you look at me in it."

A note I strangely cherish
and despise. So slowly becoming
itself in its own self awareness
of time and years that crumble
to sleep in your eyes. It drops
like a dead weight, heavy the way
true nakedness is bordered
with terror unthinking and world
ending. A moment of exposure
developed in isolation.

Becoming entirely wise.