Your eyes don't shine too
brightly; never like pearls,
but they stay true.
Sanded down and stripped of their sparkle
like frosted glass in the Wintertime,
you can see the reality in a glance,
the mortality in a stare,
the abnormality in a wink sent secretly
across the room -
A postcard of truth, with
no poet's festoon to complicate,
but just enough -
oh boy - you reflect
what you see and it is
beauty.
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