incurious

you did not wander
nor did you create
and gently,
let a flower of your own self push forth from your smooth skin
to permeate the world with a thrilling new scent
not once in my love did you stretch
your fingers or your heart
in search of something new, no,
in comfort you stayed,
content not to explore even the nearest of mysteries,
my own,
though I was yours to decipher you remained
incurious
to the end

behind my paintings and poetry and postcards from islands
less isolated than you are
I still keep your picture
as a reminder that I deserve more
than to be at rest in the arms of an open book
I deserve a pair of widescreen eyes
and a forever doubtful, wonderful mind
someone that began to reach for me
and never stopped,
unsatisfied,
insatiate,
restless in his need to know some piece of the world
outside of himself

though I was yours to decipher you remained
incurious
to the end