His eyes were gleaming
in her wake; black and white
yet holding all of the colours she could see.
If it was possible for eyes to refract
in prismatic glory, his did,
and only for her.
Her hair, blowing
in front of her eyes and half obscuring
her wild laugh,
being brushed aside by a straying,
tender hand. They tried
to stay so solemn, so serious,
but they couldn't help it.
Love like that, when it shines like that...
It can't be dimmed.
~~ A poem based on an old photograph I once saw. ~~