His Eyes
I remember
the curve in the small of his back
where I fit just right
and where my knees were cupped by his.
They say he’s aged now, tired, sad, silver in his hair
but, so have I, and know this
it was never the chiseled features of Adonis I sought
but that twinkle of eye,
never the perfection of legend
but a swagger of mischievous pride.
I remember
the way he looked at me
like he’d died and gone to heaven
the boom of his laughter, still rings in my mind
beside the hollow in his shoulder where my cheek fit.
They say he’s tired now worn down by time
but I won’t see it…I have memories and the light
I’m sure is still twinkling in his eyes.
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