Open and wide, not quite terrified,
cobalt and steel too delicate to coin those piercing eyes.
She knows secrets-not yours of course.
She feels fear-for someone.
It seems the light falls softer after all these years,
or forgiveness just called up from the understudy.
These days, I find myself liking the girl with the smallest lips,
more and more,
precise instead of narrow, these days
she has changed, but those wisps of lips remain
barely red and sealed.
Most days she irritates me-lividly.
Those same two snapped purse lips in pink
never bold enough to communicate, much less
accentuate or attract attention, pathetic and meek.
All of the time I am reminded they are enough
to say too much, and though never again,
I say again, and again I will pause-at my reflection.
The original uploader was Tsukiakari at English Wikipedia. [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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