Gone, this eye from you.
Gone, this hand like mine.
This hand I cannot hold.
The hand you pull away.
Does this kinship bring you shame?
Kinsman, brother, short of love.
Short of hope, short of temper and full.
Full of guilt, that guilt that makes you human.
That guilt that I reflect, I know this feeling.
But, still I feel.
I'm overwhelmed, by this overbearing thought.
This thought, that bears no action.
This action, that acts upon it's own.
Beyond my control, and still.
Still I feel.
Feeling that your heart has left you.
Your heart, for the first time, is more to me.
More than the mechanism that brings oxygen to your organs.
More than the reactor, powering your life; it is abstract.
Absract, but still so tangible and grave.
So I go, and turn about.
I stop, to know your meaning.
A curiosity, now more self-imposed than directed.
Your machine takes hold of mine
The electricity of your eye, shares current with mine
Shares light, shares levity, shares love.