I looked up at your window,
        (so bright-eyed, poised and observant)
harmless
until you walked past its gaze.
 
        How I wished I could mistake you for a stranger.

I watched the familiar bones of your hand
cup somebody else's yawn.

        An ugly mouth with no right.
                Those lips know no luck.

Then the window blinked.
A curtain swished a floral face:

        two hanging pots for eyes,
        their falling tendrils linked into a nose

        the orchid on a table, a certain smile.