Eye of the Lover

November 2, 2017
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From the eye of her lover,

she floats in her periwinkle skirt
and golden leaves tangle in her tresses.
Sunshine has no better home than between her kohl black lashes,
and the moonlight strikes her smile at just the right moment.

He sees her dancing by the water’s edge;
whichever way the wind blows,
she follows.

From the eye of her lover,
her benevolence has no bounds,
and when she drops a hefty bill into the tin can.
The onlookers applaud her generosity.
Perhaps they even break out in a merry song.

He sees her skipping by the water’s edge;
whichever way the wind blows,
she follows.

But his eye doesn’t catch
the silver safety pins peeking out from the folds of her skirt,
nor the wrinkle of her sore, stuffy nose,
or the red of her teary eyes.

His eye doesn’t catch
the bills she stole from the tip jar last week,
nor the sneer of her lips when her fingers brushed against the grimy can.
The onlookers walk,
heads down,
with tight-lipped smiles.

He doesn’t see she’s gone;
the wind has blown that girl out to sea.






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