Sty...

Around flickering layers of coarse skin,
sleepy eylashes blink,
meeting their counterparts from across the shore
containing between their union,
a world of what is seen and what is not in what is real and what is not,
from a dream that could be what it could be or what it could not.

This night,
I gotta sty
on my right eye
that leaves me dry
from questions - how and why
as I adjust and lie
to strictly defy
for passers by
that its you and I, you and I, just you and I!