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Strange Size
"Look, I have strange eyes,
one's a larger size.",
she said, facing me
over an unknown tea,
and, gazing in them,
I smelt a cut stem;
such dual perceptions,
lasting impressions;
I sat without a clue,
Desire as statue,
yet, snared by those eyes
of differing size.
In thoughtful reason,
Summer's her season,
though, through Winter too,
she found wings that flew,
like from of Tolstoy,
she's sorrow and joy,
fearing all's fleeting,
still smiles in greeting;
"It does. It doesn't.",
answer she musn't,
as I meet her eyes
of various size.
She required more orange,
but, nothing rhymes orange,
so, like felled towers,
I brought her Fall flowers,
their scent not quite rife,
she took out her knife,
so they'd find their place
in her clear glass vase;
standing at her side,
I felt an odd pride,
measuring my size
in her deep blue eyes.
Speaking of sweet sting,
she, my newest Spring,
revealed her nature
passed nomenclature,
beyond simple words,
apart from the herds,
she, the enigma,
to my shy Sigma,
her lips made crimson
'pon my horizon,
in her fierce-hued eyes
I see my strange size.
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