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


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