I die in your eyes

In the dead of winter
if you are very lucky
there sometimes comes a day

A day so clear and clean and sharp
so crisp and frosty edged
A day much like today

And there you stand
Your hair the gold
of lost children’s laughter
amber strands blown ever so slightly askew
by your playful pet
the wind

Your hands

Avalon’s light
streaming through your veins
White fire raging
just beneath the skin

You turn to me
I die in your eyes

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

2 thoughts on “I die in your eyes”

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