It keeps blinding me                                
  not the pain                                                      
    no­t the jealousy                                                  
      not the shame
        not the depression

                               It's the Love.

So bright it burns
No longer a fleeting feeling
Just a passionate sizzle
As it protests against my skin
Adding a different kind of hue
Described as feminine colors
Some men hate it so

Twinkling with a glare,
  not the face
    not the torso
      not the hands
        not the legs

                               It's the Eyes.

Dark as day swallowing the light
Greedy for more color
In wait, it becomes a game
It glares with determination
Reflecting its true desires
Blissfully unaware of another's intent
In hope it finds purchase of more value

Beating down with persistence,
  not the brain
    not the stomach
      not the lungs
        not the intestines

                             It's the Heart.

True inner beauty
is what captures the most
Relative to time and space
It may grow weary with years
Though it will never distinguish its heat
Pulsing vibrantly every single second
Divulging upon raw emotion and vision