Her Eyes

Her eyes, vivid,
are never before as bright
as in these moments.
They shine
with a glory she never shows
as she walks around day to day,
shoulders hunched,
head down,
lank hair
in front of her face.
Here, though,
they are glassine and radiant,
with the brilliance
of a perfectly cut stone
within a perfectly crafted setting.
Her eyes, pupils wide,
taking it all in,
following me.
I fall in love with her,
in these precious seconds,
when her eyes are unclouded,
finally clear,
and I love her
even after she spoils it
when I let go,
and she ruins the waters
with her last red exhale.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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