Periphery

There you are
in the corner of my eye,
Though I need not turn to look,
for I know your face.
And it is neither heavenly bound
nor hellishly born, but weary—
of the lines that have written its lore.

I do not look away from the scorn on your brow,
your lamenting grace.
I simply stand here
in the corner of your eye,
awaiting your embrace.