His eyes,
I remember them fondly.
Iris' like amber, and perhaps specks of citrine,
but you'd have to be close enough to gaze into them.

His pupils were dark, like black pearls
sitting in the throne of an oyster.

His eyelashes were black, like the night of a new moon,
and fluttered like the flap of a raven's wing.

Yes, I recall,
his eyes were beautiful.

The window to the soul, they say?
Well, I suppose that makes sense.
He was utter magnificence,
and his soul was beautiful too.