Look at me that way again,
for my attention is yours alone
when you do. Even when you do not
it is yours, for your gaze maintains
my mind the moment you turn away,
and every moment after.
Look at me that way again,
for your eyes hold within them deep mystery;
mystery as to what in my person or
my nature has drawn them; mystery
as to the astral depths of your
beauty they contain. Raptured,
my longing can hardly bear more.
Look at me that way again,
for it feels as though my sanity
depends upon it. To have felt your
gaze; its comfort, its desire, its need,
is to be forever ruined until next your windows open,
your breeze to blow my way once more,
my seeds to swirl in your arousing winds.
Look at me that way again,
for your eyes are what is love.
What is true is what I see when
I look into them. I see that you see me
exposed, vulnerable, laid bare,
and beyond that, an undeserved acceptance.
In the gaze of your love I feel free, I feel alive,
I feel such possibilities as are numberless.
Oh, to linger always under your watch.
Though naked, as now we are, your body as
softly beautiful-delicate as it now, as always, is,
I long only for your eyes to come again into mine.
Look at me that way again:
my life's ever-eternal refrain.
