Rorschach

This middle eastern guy I know

with gorgeous cinnamon eyes

that I just can't say no to

offers me, last minute, in

AP Psych

"Take my rorschach test," he says

and I do because I can't resist

that hopeful smile on his face that arrives

way before I accept his offer

The thing is about us, we

see differently, him and I,

I could swear I spot

a bat in that picture, those ink blots

scattered about, symmetrically

and he asks me to point out

"Tell me where you see the wings."

"Show me where you can find the eyes."

Redundantly petty, I know,

and we both admit that we hate the rorschach

but I'm right, about that bat

when he sees a monster

smiling up at him

as I did earlier

Our sideways glances

communicate in ways unseen

when I let his fingertips ghost over the lace of my blouse,

an unorganized set of kisses to my

lips, cheek, and neck,

pulling that fickle thing up over my head

and he stops, he stares,

"You're gorgeous," says Irresistible Eyes,

and coy-timid me, with a

hint of a smile and a wink,

"Show me where you see beauty."

©SelfTitled, 2017