The poem Bella never wrote…
They’re addictive, his eyes are,
When up close, they see so far.
In one glance, they hold me,
Melted gold and honey.
Big and deep, with Saturn’s brow
To overshadow, and how
It hurts when they regard
anyone but me.
Those lashes are long and soft,
Cows eyes my friends scoff!
I ignore them: jealousy, and all I feel
Is their lovely brown, warmth seeping into me.
They caught me watching once
I turned the colour of rust.
Turning away, I caught a smile
In those eyes… and it stayed for a while…
They’re quizzical at times,
And stormy too.
They turn my tortured insides to goo.
How they question without a word,
And drip contempt on something absurd.
They light up, like sparkling sunlight
(Through drops of amber frozen fast on an ancient tree)
When someone cracks a joke, but beware,
Of that sharp stare,
The joke may be on you – take care!
I love his eyes the best, though,
When he looks away, unseen
And dreams thoughts: fanciful (I think)
And I can watch, and never blink,
Till he slips out of his day dream.
So strange against his skin so white
They look, like the sun reflected
In a pool of water on the road,
Deep, dark gray and gold.
Ah, if ever I could own them, and call him my own!
Why every selfish joy and pleasure, I’d happily disown!