The Stare of The Mole

In the curly manners of your eyes she allows herself to get lost in your trapping smile.
Laying with a soft look, she stares at your back, feeling comfortable and alone, while trying to decipher the poetry of your moles.

They stare back at her as she falls asleep ignorant to your verses.
Waking up is a constant event during empty nights.

She falls over and over as if her soul is constantly running away only to come back on the next second.

She guesses it leaves her to stare at her staring at your back staring at her.

They just stare, and, for now, that is what makes what they are available to the presence of everything.
It may be true that love may not fit the reality of this instant, but love is the essence of all that was ever made.

A chair only exists because love was there when someone created the first one.

The same with dreams, frogs and clouds.

Love is always staring at everything, just waiting to be noticed and used.

Love wants to be used, and that may be what moles try to say when they look at her so strongly making her fall in the middle of her sleep.

Falling when asleep doesn't hurt, it just makes her aware of what else is out there, staring back, wondering what's out here staring back...
And messing up the waters of such turbulent sea of potentialities, she rejoices, laughing at all that stares at them, hoping the same is happening at the other side of the invisible mirror reflecting opposites.
I wonder if they know I'm here, helpless in the middle of such sublime composition, hoping she will never take her eyes out of the moles and realize she was staring at his back...