It was a wasp,

It was a wasp,
I think.
It had long legs.
It landed on my cheek
by my right eye. I could feel
its wings on my glasses lens
and I think it was drinking
my tears. Oh, my
There wasn't a reason
I had to cry. I had recently yawned
huge and beautiful,
and this thing has come
to be stood a drink
from my saltwater well,
well I think that's cool!
But I'd like it to go.
It's been

minutes, now.

My eyes have been shut
in denial of sorts. I want
to deny it these pale, glossy orbs
to walk upon (or to sting
of course). So by dint
of sheer strength
of attention
I hold

this beastie in place where it waits and stands
so inscrutably still. We are both growing old,
but I can outlast you, there
my friend.

I will.

It may have flown off,
but I feel it still.
The shadow impression
of where it stood
still holds its weight

light as memory,
'til my hand flails up
by an act of will

to smack nothing but me.