She has brown eyes.
Amber and tired.
Flecked with gold
And cautious ambition.
They pass over you a moment,
Before getting lost once again
In her own shrouded world.
You hold that gaze
After it has since long past
Wondering what she thought,
What she saw,
If anything.
Are you to her a muse,
A distraction of the mundane?
Or simply backdrop,
Immersed within the bustling
Yet uninspiring scene?
She has brown eyes,
And she sees right through you.
But can you see into hers?
As you ponder about,
You catch her eyes,
Gleaming yet dilute
Within the sunlight,
Caught just right
Within the honey rays.
And that’s when you notice,
That her eyes are also green.