The Smile of the Murderer-Poet

The eyes do not change
As much as the face.
Muscles tighten, lines appear,
Like valleys of skin
Through which rivers of tears have flowed.
I see your teeth,
White, all in a row,
As crescent dimples pull pink lips thin
While the wrinkles of your nose stand sentinels
To dilating circles of black
Veiled by long lashes on lids
At whose corners crow's feet announce
Love you feel unfeigned.

Which do I love most:
The almonds of your eyelids,
The blue ice of your irises,
The quiver of your lower lip,
Or the direction of your gaze?