Until We Meet Once More

Devastating beauty. Magnificent, antique beauty. Let me look at you. Long, splendid legs; strong, elegant fingers; brawny chest; a smile as lovely as a newborn's first. All of these things you possess. All of these things are priceless delights. Yet, I could never go on without even a mere comment on your eyes, wise and aged. Eyes that slay me with only their faint memory. Your eyes. They have a questioning, furrowed brow and a certain intelligence that lies behind them. I cannot have your eyes, but haven't they already seen into my soul? Haven't they already seen the forbidden love which brews hot and frothy inside my heart? Surely those rich eyes of yours, the eyes of a warrior, have noticed the way my homeless eyes beg for just a tiny glimpse of you. A secret, minuscule glimpse, to tuck away into a weathered tin cup full of fellow dreams. Haven't your eyes seen it all? I'm afraid they haven't. And if this be true, let it be a sick tragedy as well, fore our time for secret love has just ended. The damned clock has ran out on the shameful possibility of me loving you, and you loving me. The possibility of your eyes rocking me to sleep, each night, without a lullaby. I may never see you or those divine eyes again. So I'll rely on the shadowy memory my eyes captured, until we meet once more.