Eyes Like the Bay

pretty guys with pretty lies,
reflections of oak leaves in their eyes,

your caramel skin,
that twinkling sin.

the more I try,
the more I find
so many traces
of familiar lines,

and you’re still
selling me,
your pretty lies,
and eyes,
and lines.

the bay is twinkling in time
with the rhythm of these lies,
the sun is shining high
making deeper all the lines,
and making pretty
all these times.

that sparkling sin
reflecting in
clouds whisking by,
across the sky,

within your grey-blue eyes
you sell the prettiest of lies.