Walking Eyes

in the stillness
of the night,
with a million eyes
looking down,
I stand naked
looking at myself -
this disheveled
glorious form
I think is me.

I feel eyes
walking around me,
peering queerly
into every nook
and crack,
peeling off
polished skin
like stubborn cling-wrap;
eyes I thought were yours,
now I know they're mine.

only light needs cover,
not darkness,
where eyes walk around.