It's All In The Eye Of The Beholder Poem by Mark Heathcote

His eyes are like two subterranean whirlpools
they are two blue sapphire lakes without shores
there is just a glint of light penetrating,
quite-blindingly-at the centre
there is no escape once her toes are in this deep water,
the water is already over her head
waves lap and wash all around her prim and proper waist
till she submerges in the moonlight
with the water lilies shutting down, closing up.
Yet, she, herself, opens like an evening star
and in a kind of subtle veneration, the wind holds its breath
and whispers, I know whose eyes I would rather look upon.
And-that's-even-if-they're-crying and-now-tearfully-both-red.