Your heart tells me where you’re going.
Your face, where you’ve been.
These hands tell me of
all the wondrous things you are seeing.
All the lovely things you are within.
And so when we lock eyes from afar,
although they look so dead and dull—
I know still a part of your heart
sees the world like the sun.
For looks are deceptive,
but poems never lie.
The truth succeeds a prelude
and speaks like a sigh.
© achillesheelpoetry, 2022