©2005 by Jennifer Honeycutt. May not be reproduced without permission.

so many clichés have been written
about eyes:
windows to the soul,
bottomless wells,
brightly burning flames of passion,
expressive pools
(or dead lumps of coal,
as the case may be).

i’m tired of the clichés.

you are not a cliché.
and your eyes are not
a web of mysteries
or a glimpse into the future.
they don’t burn with an inner fire.
they are just eyes —
eyes that somehow drag me in.

i’m tired of looking over
and catching your glance
when i’m totally offguard.

i’m tired of being caught in the glare
created by your glance,
trapped like a deer in headlights
(oh no, another cliché).

i’m tired of wondering
when you’ll cast your spotlight on me,
of wondering when you’ll
shine your flameless passion my way.

when it happens
god knows a curtain will be drawn
over the windows to my soul,
lids will be nailed over
my bottomless wells,
and two unlit lumps of coal
will be centered on my face.

i’ll be waving an empty matchbook
like a white flag.

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