Your Eyes

You came in the back
And stood in the doorway
Rounded frame cloaked in pink
Late-middle aged
Well heeled nobly postured
Curls lustrous bronze grey
Movie-star set yet
Tousled with insouciance
Run through by nervous fingers
Though I know not why
Your eyes like ponds
Muddy hazel green and wet
I hadn’t seen you in forever
So I ran and I slid
On socks over wood
To be at your side
To hug you with gusto
And kiss both your cheeks
Each plump rounded apple
While gripping your arms
As if I could stop you
From leaving again
Your hands olive-tan
Softly creased by time
Reached out for mine
And stroked them with love
My rough fingers polished
By your aged chamois leather

And from behind you
A tiny cousin emerged
Pushing a little trolley
Stacked with silver-wrapped presents
That were all for me
They were stacked quite high
And slid around a bit
As he wheeled them past
Like a miniature porter

I looked into your eyes
Those eyes I got from you
Their shape and their soul
Though mine much more green
And you said just one thing:
“Your eyes are neither too big nor too small”

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