I remember the blue in her eyes,
though often they were green –
a wistfulness, when she tilted her head,
sentiment at the seams.
Her fingertips, absently tracing the rim
of a cup or a saucer, or both.
The governed expanse of the contour
revealing as is, clothed.
To lean in, whisper lure and yearning,
so bold and sacred, so preferred –
then settle back in tidal fashion
sands and beaches bared – secured.
I recall the mounting balance
that melody and rhythm bind,
a song there at the nucleus
hastened,
fresh and primed.
I have felt the blue of her ocean,
my eyes remember the scene.
And I am the breeze that comes off the water
pensive and longing my dreams.
Taps and Ratamacues 
Very nostalgic and melancholy. Beautiful
Thank you Tosha. 🙂
You’re welcome 😉
Lovely John. There a poignant mood throughout, but in the last stanza especially. I enjoyed reading. 🙂
Thanks Cathy! 🙂
Such wonderful remembrance, what a gorgeous description of her balancing act.
Thanks Elizabeth. The subtleties and power of balance is not lost on me. Thanks for your comment.
Then you are already far above 90% of the population. 🙂