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.