One Sister’s Eyes

Two sisters once I knew,

One sister’s eyes were softer still,

Her hands were soft and made of milk,

And cinnamoned with nutmeg spilled,

Upon her breasts ran dew and breath,

Her sister smiled in brokenness,

Not broken but with sadness depths,

Like unlocked keys along her cheeks

In beauty that defied the eye but captured soul and spirit and mind.

Over her smile her eyes did drown in glimmers green within her Soul,

Her curls they flew

and rolled and blew

and pulled my soul from fro and to.

And as I looked upon her sister sad,

She felt my gaze and looked askance,

and hiding now her beauty deep,

Her eyes and lips were yet to keep,

what a beholder I then became to see her sister then so plain.

Her sister’s hands were soft and milk,

the other sister’s softer yet;

and cinnamoned with nutmeg spilled,

upon her bosom in breaths of silk.

Above her smile were eyes of brown,

with scents of something from the South,

Her curls that flew,

were rolled and frayed,

and so they pulled my heart in two.

I looked upon her silently,

who once before had looked away,

to hide this beauty on display,

As if her self was still unwed,

Not married to her eyes and head,

A stranger beauty in her bed.

-Albert Turner Goins