Your eyes light up the room each time you open them, a marvel and beauty to watch. At times, they narrow like an English countryside road with curves and hedges. Your eyes send shivers down my spine as they twinkle when you talk with a raised eyebrow. What a beauty. Your eyes invite all sorts from the woodwork, crawling, running. Oh boy, what a beauty.
They pierce without words and are magnetic at the same time. Your eyes draw me closer to you and comfort me in a kangaroo pouch. Your eyes bring warmth on an English winter day. They radiate warmth without the heat. Your eyes light up my way like an oil lamp. Your eyes smile through your lips. They soften in sequence with your emotions.
I bury myself in your eyes each time you look at me. They are your eyes, my eyes too because they talk to me softly and tenderly. I touch them and feel them and am mesmerized by the color, silk and brown. Oh yes, the silk that calms my nerves and the brown that identifies your identity. Your eyes see beyond the walls of my heart. They bring solace and joy.
At times they shed an invisible tear of fear and rejection. They are rounded like a green Smith apple and yet not sour. They shed tears when in pain and sing loud when in joy. They are your eyes, my eyes at the same time. I look at them at night as they shut to sleep, the eyes that enjoy a long winter night’s sleep. The eyes that can see a good scotch from afar.
The beautiful brown round eyes that are calm and yet as sharp as a knife at times. The eyes that talk, laugh, and shed a tear in private and still navigate through the chaotic traffic of London.
The eyes that bounce like a basketball when in love. They draw me nearer to your breath and reassure me. Your eyes, my eyes. What a friend I have in them, the talking eyes.
