Your eyes

   are bluer than the skies

      of summer. They shine more brightly

         than heavenly stars that sparkle nightly.

No finer line

   could ever define

      a shape more perfect in design.

         One look and I'm enraptured —

            captured!

They have the power to hypnotise —

   your lovely eyes!

Copyright © Robert Haigh 1996

***          ***          ***          ***

For my wife

You can look at me if

you want to.

I know you're worried

he'll notice.

It's not something to

feel guilt over.

You are lovely.

You are smart.

You are acute.

I was writing yesterday

and i thought of you.

Such a pleasant surprise.

I wouldn't treat you like

he does.

My love is worn and hesitant.

He adores you.

So why?

Why are you staring at me?

Those marvelous rain drops

in the center of your eyes.

So innocent, so pure.

He doesn't scare me.

He is a good man

but not a strong one.

I'm afraid because you aren't.

Don't you know about boys like me?

We love vile women.

The smell of vodka on their lips,

A cigarette's stench as we rip off their clothes.

We are strangers to love.

You can look at me.

But I will never look back

The way you do.

You're entireness can't be mimicked.

I can't pretend to be anything more

Than a broken soul,

But you can look at me.

and I'll find my way back and fill every crack
of what I dared to abandon and lack
As I hid under a shadow and erased my name
Because all others thought I was just a game

To take the needles called imperfections out of my heart
and use them as the strength to guide me a better part
Where the papers of my chapter aren't so wrinkled and illegible anymore
and I open my real eyes and to the light, beckoning, a real door

To my surprise, all is shining and ever free
and the clear sparkle of waters bring to reflect the real me
So, then, what brings you, what monster are you, foul mirror?
To sacrifice my time and what I hold ever dearer?

I ask you then, will it be a face, or will it be my words?
Or do my words mean nothing, flocking appeal to idle herds?

Bring to me please, the powerful quality and grace of personality
and let beauty paint my face, beauty associated with the pureness of my mentality

I yearn to love, a love with a passion

Joining hearts, a fatal attraction

To be fondled by your words alone, holding on to promises by your lips

To savor the sweetness and emotion that drips

Let us hold together, let our eyes slowly find and meet

Let all time stop, with nothing but our heartbeats

A sprinkle of starlight from high in heaven's lair -
mimics crystalline highlights that shower your hair
The many shades - gently caressed by an angel's hand -
gives rise of lilac's fragrance from each silken strand

Unknown to harshness - her soft unblemished skin,
smooth perfection unaltered by sun or wind
Outer beauty is seen, but there's more to be told,
nestled in comfort like a child in cradles hold

A tinge of jade speaks of gentleness deep inside;
emeralds slowly fade with the closing of her eyes
With turn of heads, the moon and stars often weep,
silently gazing upon this gentle soul in sleep

Life's grandest views - hidden within simple things,
beyond shallow eyes it always holds more than seems
Gates swing wide for those seeking something more;
enter the refuge - peer into your mind's open door

Mild as a whisper, her voice delicately refined,

upon lovely smiles each sweetness combined

Like an air of dreams - cast by magic's spell,

into these depths is where I long to dwell

If images could be paused in a moment of time,
inside  stilled sands - you would always be mine
With halt to seconds - through portals of hourly glass,
I'd be there to love you until eternity's very last

© C.E. Vance

Like a bird, enamored by a coin;

my prose is dictated, and destroyed

by a bauble with a sultry shake.

Left to own devices in its wake,

I imagine few could stand for long

a tidy consciousness, banging on

through many euphemistic daydreams:

beleaguered by the thought of inseams

that cannot hold against her motion -

constant like a turbulent ocean.

Should the dams collapse and waves emerge,

I would dare not sing a restive dirge,

as you'd be choice for avoidance: a

floatation device in deployment,

enjoyed through the crisis we'd divert;

drawing the eyes of the extroverts.