How could I describe your eyes? I could say that they are closed globes Whole worlds turn under your lids As you sleep and I lie awake next to you Resisting the urge to trace
How could I describe your eyes? I could say that they are closed globes Whole worlds turn under your lids As you sleep and I lie awake next to you Resisting the urge to trace a sleepy finger Over their soft shells. I could try and pay lip service to the Blue-glass bright reflection of them, The flecks of white that twinkle when You smile, just like your dad’s. Whole sonnets I could attempt to write About the creases at their corners, A cartographer’s dream to map their Journeys, what they’ve seen along the way. I would love to be able to put into metaphor The deep feeling of being untethered From the earth, free of gravity’s game, I get when yours meet mine, I might talk Of the weightless feet of astronauts Whose bodies sail and swim In the cosmos. I might begin to address the softness Of them, the way I sometimes dream Of placing my tongue around them, Cool burr against your skin, Of tasting each lash with lips and teeth. I could write all of this, would carve it On a stone for you, but it would be the hardest poem I would ever write.
E. A. Moody is a runner, writer and mother from Wales. She is a new poet and has been published in Black Bough poetry. Her favourite poets are Larkin, Carol Ann Duffy and Eliot. Twitter: @eamoody1