Your dark eyes were to die for.
Mine full of sprinkles.
Sprinkles of tears.
My life's focus got  a little mislaid when I looked deep inside.
I can say I spied your real being, from the outside looking in.
I never learned, although a learned soul at heart.
Still lost in your eyes.
And poetic art.
Your iris not a flower, but a hollow tunnel of carbon, awaiting a quiet spark.
And at that the tone of the saxophone so dolefully plays.
Threw a deep jazz rhythm into my mind to divert my focus a tiny bit  more.
In another life at another time I would be  yours and you'd be mine.
That's a certainty.
The time the present, the Christmas gift is inappropriate.
Maybe in a little while the world will work out great.
(C) Livvi