I made myself a miniature,
a Tom Thumb, a Thumbelina, even smaller…
And placed myself upon the lower recess of your eye.
Hoping to be with you
up close and intimate,
I grasped your mascara covered lashes
like ropes dipped in axle grease,
wrestling to maintain my place.
With every twitch
or change of facial expression,
I would adjust my grip
and strive for new footing.
I was careful not to make you blink
as I followed your pupils
with the hopes you would see me,
place me in your palm
and visit with me from time to time
I imagined it would be great
To travel to Europe with you this way,
even though I know I can’t.
But I thought I would write this poem,
so you could know
where I wished to be….