Always Watching, Often Waiting

it's hard to get around or over your brown eyes
the way they find and surround mine in photos
it's hard to know that you're somewhere else
and remember the way you once felt so close

in those moments just before we'd go to sleep
when love seemed to keep you through the night
and I'd wake up to see you softly watching me
with so much adoration contained in your sight

in my mind I race through these conversations
where I say to you, certain, how much you mean
to me and the way I still feel plenty for you
but they always end with I wish I'd foreseen

I have these dreams every now and then of those
hopeful, wide open, deep ocean seeking eyes
meeting with mine as the beginning and last
thing I'd see each day and contemplate the size

of our involvement had it been perhaps easier
to maintain than we'd maybe made to believe
I wonder if to me they'll always look the same
if I'll never forget everything they'd seen

sometimes I look confronted to new come lovers
and try well to pretend there's more there
than I know's the truth but it doesn't long last
it seems eventually they see in mine the despair

my restless glances back and forth between time
trying to handle its unbearable lightness
evidence of wonder of whether greatness is extant
or still to come and my uncertainty's rifeness

and though many brown eyes there are to be seen
it's less their traits that I need to be shown
rather more it's the stories that they can tell
and the affection in them accessible to know

so in those photos I guess the truth of your eyes
that I peruse and in them find time to reflect
upon's traveling down memory's waning clarity lane
awaiting it's ardence once again let intersect

and a worthy question it is whether to forget
you can or should try to a once love's eyes
is it best remember what you kept as happy
or pursue the ephemeral with better yet's surmise?