I am a Small Gatsby, looking over open water,
You are an available apple, just out of reach.
Fruitless, I wish to taste your pulp.
I am an aphid, let me take a bite out of you.
I will drown in the tempting 'go!' of your light.

But I mistake a green star for the pupil of an eye,
Your closeness an illusion.
I look up from you to the sky,
to find some loving there.
All I see is a night as dull as myself,
Stars blinking shyly through the veil,
Am I viridescent without a witness?
Am I forgettable as the new moon?

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© Eva Irvine