Eyes Of a Woman Bob Spencer In the shadow of memory I love you still. We were so young, so inexperienced--not knowing which clues to follow. Bold, excited words waited in the innocence wanting to be spoken, unsure exactly how. Your face was perfect art, never the same, liquid, changing with my feelings, my every desire, my every mood. The look of the mythical princess: sheer elegance and grace never before defined, with luscious eyes, dark and inviting, yet private and elusive. And the look of intelligent woman, a gaze brimming with the energy of a thousand female minds. A look which contains all present and ancient knowledge and depth which man, as man, cannot know. Eyes of vulnerability. No man alive could have stayed you from his arms of comfort and protection--not the protection of the child, but a primal need of man to merge with woman to feel the pain, to share the weight of tears. Venus eyes. What man would not willingly be conquered and bound in that heat? All the passions of the body unlocked and lifted to their rightful place. Encircled arms, wildly beating hearts, ancient, untamed movements, mixing and merging colors and sweat of the body human and holy until love explodes in a million blazing lights of wonder and tired release. The look of friendship. The equality of giving and receiving the common things and occurrences of life. Sharing private longings and secret places. Dancing and laughing for no reason at all. Letting silliness have it\\\'s voice, and anger, its noisy, childish ranting. In the shadow of memory I love you still. We were too young then to hold the power, to contain the mystery. I do not miss you, for the child that loved you is now the man who holds your memory in the space of his heart where the fine wine--the best wine-- is stored.