on your blessed face [poem]

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I had something to say on the train the other day when she sat with splendid beauty in my eyes [but she’ll never read these words so they’re really safe to say]. Now they’re out there in the ether in the splendour of display [how easy in our hindsight to be wise]


The eyes are
the window of the soul
(so they say)
but on your blessed face
the window is
your mouth
it showed me many places in your heart
each subtle smile
(i see no guile)
each pursing
& puckeredness
playfully pouting 
[I think you love to play]
both corners
lifted and downed
in a way one doesn’t normally see
on the mouths of others.
There was an irony there
an ancient soul
And as for your voice
and words
and the melismas that I heard
I say
  and I say
he flies so straight
with his flashing yellow feathers
then he perches at your window on a rock
I could peer through that window
till the cooing cows come home
and even till the crowing of the cock

© 2010, Alan Morrison

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