Iris

She never smiled.
But then again, she never frowned either.
She never laughed heartily,
Merely chuckled on occasion.
She never cried; the tears
Would well in her eyes, between her lashes,
And stay there.
She was, to all appearances, devoid of emotion-
But he knew differently.

He saw what others didn't in her eyes:
A fierce flash of blue when she was angry,
A twinkling summer sky when she was happy,
And a coy, playful gaze as she teased him.
Her eyes darkened when she was sad,
The color of the ocean supressed by storm clouds;
And, on very few private occasions,
The ocean would overflow
And the salty water would drench his shoulder.

He could read her eyes
As clearly as any book.
Each time she looked at him,
Her love was as obvious
As words on a page,
Once he had learned to read them-
He saw, in her eyes,
What others refused to open their own eyes
And see.