When Other Eyes Turn Away


A warm, slow smile plays
across her lips.
Like a dusting of mooonbeams
on those it touches
with its soft light.

Smile, I find myself thinking;
that is when I know I feel her best.
But when the other eyes turn away,
that is when I know I see her best.

I see a new dawn breaking in her eyes
as she discards her half-thoughts
to be half-hidden in the carpet
of winter debris outside.

Foootstepos echo of a summer's
passion done,
and like a catching of morning dew
on winter bark, her welcome words
revive in us words we
thought were lost to the winds.

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