Your face opens on the inside of my palm.
Your eyes are dim mirrors;
I do not see the war hidden behind their glass.
Now, you are trying to recall
 
how to remember me.
I say nevermind into your cuticles;
they pull your fingers
over mine.
 
Last week, you said there were men
listening from behind the walls;
do not be afraid.
 
There are no walls, only windows
and time with which
to gaze.