My Eyes on You

My eyes, they cross the bridge
to your beauty day and night,
Too fine a fluid line,
drawn with your jenga winning grin.

My eyes are not exotic,
nor are they sleepy in your moonlight;
They are flames,
in your forest,
burning and exact.
Taking moments of our closeness,
making food to feed my soul.

My eyes on you querida,
Their movement is a bird
in their first of many flights,
every blink is just a wing
wrapping round the rising moonlight.

They will not leave you,
my beloved. . .
but they stretch
like a folded arm,
   pinned
by our sleepy numbness,
then quickly, moving through dark
they find the first bridge back.

Eyes closed, do I find you,
sleeping next to me.
Our hearts make love in poetic time,
and breathing. . .
our breathing,
is a slow dance,
that we practiced,
every day before we met.