The Eyes (don't) Have It.

No I don’t see the stars in your eyes

No galaxies, universe, cluster, nebula.

We have plain eyes, homely,

You and I.

Mine’s brown, but seems black,

Brown, only in the light.

Yours must be black I think

Or maybe not

Never seen them close enough.

That’s funny!

Here I am making poetry,

About you,

And I don’t know the colour of your eyes.

Did you think this was an ode to your eyes?

A love poem?

I thought so too, when I began.

But your eyes don’t fascinate me

Like Romeo’s did to Juliet.

Or Anna and Will

In Notting Hill.

Never seen it?

That’s wretched!

We don’t even watch the same movies.

True, I agree that’s hardly a requisite,

But at least you should have known

That I love that movie.

I am sorry.

You breathe,

But you’re not a poem.

Not my poem.

My poem must breathe

In and out whole galaxies, universes, cluster, nebulae.

And I don’t see it in your eyes.

Even though its mostly black,

The colour of the night

When stars seem bright,

Brighter,brightest.

(I believe I’ll never see it in Anyone’s eyes

Because that’s bullshit.

But sometimes I love it

When I’m proved wrong.

Utterly and undisputedly wrong.)

So it’s for the best,

I’ll never look close enough

To find

The colour of your eyes,

Black , brown or anything else.