linger on, your pale blue eyes

This is the copy.
There is something between us. Between the copy of your book and the warm static running out of my eyes and onto the tip of your tongue as you sound out, lo-lee-ta.
Waiting for the F train to come, I never wanted it to come.
I wanted to watch you, and you, and you and your pale blue eyes trotting over worn and weathered words, dripping over daffodil pages.
Something in me kept pacing closer to you and your pale blue eyes because never have I saw a face that held itself directly in the middle on the spectrum of
nonchalant -----|----- wary.
You were a Beatle, you were a boyish girl, you were a girlish boy, all at once.
Now I have sweaty palms and I just want you to raise your pale blue eyes.
Knowing you, you already have so subtly.
You have eyes that could be tucked deep inside the backbone of a book, but also find a way to sneak out and slide around like a snake. A garden snake.
Your seeing all of this and your seeing right through me and on the spectrum, I am now far right.
My brain percolating,
I am going to tell you I have been where you are. I have read over words so strikingly mesmerizing. We were once both at the same place in time because in a book, time isn't real. Take me where you have been some more.
Now I am playing guessing games and I see the light.
The light coming through from the tunnel of course.
Black tunnels and white lights, jesus this sounds like a bad coma.
Anyway, yes the train is here and you are only feet away, let's take a ride. I'm pacing back and forth from the left side of my brain to the right. Ping-ponging.
When the train comes to a stop and fate places us in the same car I am going to talk to you.
Please stop here.
Please,
We walk into two separate cars. I must stop with this russian roulette.
Now I sit,
I linger on, your pale blue eyes, and to my surprise, after I have seated you walk through the doors I have just walked through.
I cannot breathe. You would have brushed against my limp knee had I not sunk myself so deeply into the hard orange seat.
There is something between us. It is not glass.
And how do you think this ends? It truly is a sin.
I am a coward stuck in a coma and all I can see is white light.