On mornings like these

I open my eyes and think

about how all this time I thought

of myself as a riddle-

with black-hole eyes

and question-mark teeth.

You know me better than I thought.

You say I am vague but I think

my eyes

let on. You chuckle and your teeth

are like little pearls. These

little pearls shaped like a moon from a riddle.

You have plum skin in your teeth

and sleep in your eyes.

And you are the riddle.

We talk and you think

about these things

that I thought.

I remember when you asked what I'd think

if you did things, these

things I thought your eyes

knew the answers to- I thought.

And so I said nothing. I'm tired of riddles.

So, you clenched your teeth.

So here we have another riddle-

one that no eyes

or teeth

could have thought

I knew the answers to. No, these

eyes were glazed, I think.

I am a basket of plums your eyes

inspect and turn over in thought.

I am heavy as I think

"yes these

days are all riddles."

You know. You show your teeth.

I am not a riddle.

I know when I see your moon-like eyes

and little pearls for teeth.