If just one piece of all the sum of you
could be preserved so I could see your heart,
I know already which would be the part —
the one which for my treasure I’d accrue.
It would not be your soft neck or your thigh
(the smoothest region like a baby’s skin);
although they send my senses in a spin,
there’s something else of you for which I’d die.
Enough of all this mystery! you exclaim;
what could it be to mesmerise me so?
The answer is the windows to your soul;
to look through them has kept me whole and sane.
By now, this fact should come as no surprise:
The body part I want would be your eyes!
© 2011, Alan Morrison