ODE TO A GINGER
It was the eyes that got me, those eyes,
undecided between green or brown,
the transition betwixt and between
a cosmic riot -
galactic nebulae swirls
like pictures from Hubble,
iridescence that caught the light,
played with it like a lazy cat
then loosed upon you,
drowning you in complex beauty.
The hair was the primary lure, sure,
New England Forest red -
a shade that demanded attention,
drawing the eye
away from drab gray reality.
Freckles pulled you closer -
like a pointillist painting
their overall shade
scintillated into individuated dots,
skin refusing to brown in sunlight
converted tan to a binary score,
compelling my vision to wander,
a glance extending to a visual caress.
And where her skin was unkissed by sun;
pale as moon-milk,
porcelain frail -
a kiss would find shivering life
quickened into heat.
But it was those eyes;
those piercing portals to goddess
born to a race called unlucky,
those eyes spun me around
from the inside, reversed my polarity
and taught my heart the cruelest trick -
the creation of a hole
where only she could reside.
And when we parted,
said farewells with forever in their echo,
she carried a small piece of me away with her
and it is out there still.
©2015 Christopher Reilley
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