Her eyes a painting
In Venice
A boat made of Oakwood
Glossed to a perfect shine
Making my way through
The iris, a tunnel in her eyes
Lost in the turquoise reflections
Of an art painted to perfection
In the night
The frame changes
In her eyes
The moon reflecting
On ripples of water
As we take a canoe
Paddling on through
“Were you even listening to what I was saying?”
She smiles, wine glass just below her lips
A pendant hanging just above her cleavage
I smile back
Back in the room
Must have been dreaming.
(c) 2015
silverbackgorillapoetry.com 