Your Eyes Loved Me
Now, I see sage eyes speak, voiceless, clear.
Your eyes reflect the escapade and I want to ride beside you in a dream on Marsalis.
You, august, on the bed I dare not touch, watching the light, laughing, fussing,
our fabulous fussing...
Your pernickety gaze chides, eyes rolling “go on child,”
then our eyes sync— and your eyes loved me.
Always your eyes loved me Moma, always.