The Glass Window

The eyes are the windows into the soul.
The windows at the market are the eyes into the goods.
Both are penetrable, but often are not.
When either breaks, it’s normally tragedy.
Sometimes it’s liberation.

We peer inside to the treasures that are within both.
Curious noses pressed to the cold flat surface.
What is it that these windows desire to keep out?
The coldness of life? Prying hands but never eyes?
Is the window a sanctity or a form of insanity?

Darling, don’t stop at just peering in at me.
Reach in with your hands and feel me.
Reach beyond the glass window with your soul.
Don’t adore me from afar, but from within, because...
My glass window was shattered the moment I met you.