I sit transfixed
as thought it flies
to see warmth twice
inside her eyes

reflected in
the glassy pane
two pupils flower
past disdain

a look of summer
dressed in light
a thirst beyond
the drink of sight

some lust for life
and flirt with death
a carraige full
of moving breath

my logic screams
in measure new
though all before
wore beauty too

for even Yeats
or Neruda's verse
would paint her well
but paint her worse

a foggy smudge
her breath it seems
can not distort
the shape of dreams