His eyes might as well be vines.

Such a variety, they reach out to ensnare me—
in different shades of jade
that always stem from his soul.
They reach for radiance and reason,
and instead they find me,
struck in the beauty that is him.

You might think me stupid,
but his soul is much more dangerous
than the gamut of light that hides it.
The gold sheds clarity on hidden things,
like dust particles, stricken on a bright day.
They ignite my world when I can’t see,
and moreover, they blind me when I can.

Is it funny to say that I
saw the shades of myself in his gaze?
For a moment I was captured,
and I wanted nothing more than another glance from him,
knowing full well it'd send me to an early grave.

But he was more startled than I,
though I could scarcely tell.
Precision became dazed.
The windows shut, the jungle wilted,
and I was left forgotten,
stuck and eyeless,
in the remnants I dared to call love.