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Eyes. Those eyes. Your eyes. Eyes of the iciest hue, Guarded by a row of Dark, thick lashes. I’ve seen them in Many states. Creased at the edges By a wide grin. Red and weary From salty tears. You don’t see it. How beautiful you really are. If only I could take my eyes, And replace them with yours, So that you can see for yourself, The beauty that you possess. Thick, charcoal hair, Pale, velvet skin, a Set of soft pink lips, Teeth like pearls. A face that is perfectly Carved and flawless. Your eyes have a sparkle, The kind that I have never seen. A shimmer like the sun on a Sapphire ocean, that I Have drowned in so many times. I’m lost at sea. They say that eyes Are “the key to the soul”, And I have seen your soul Many times. Laid bare and raw, On the soil beneath my feet. I am hypnotized, every time I gaze into your two Cornflower kaleidoscopes. They are like magnets. Drawing me in, Enticing me, tempting me. Even when I am old, Infirm and my memory May be fading, that fond image will never age, never decay, never rot. It will be forever imprinted on my brain, On my heart, on my life.
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Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 6:54 PM UTC
Through A Lens
Eyes. Those eyes. Your eyes. Eyes of the iciest hue, Guarded by a row of Dark, thick lashes. I’ve seen them in Many states. Creased at the edges By a wide grin. Red and weary From salty tears. You don’t see it. How beautiful you really are. If only I could take my eyes, And replace them with yours, So that you can see for yourself, The beauty that you possess. Thick, charcoal hair, Pale, velvet skin, a Set of soft pink lips, Teeth like pearls. A face that is perfectly Carved and flawless. Your eyes have a sparkle, The kind that I have never seen. A shimmer like the sun on a Sapphire ocean, that I Have drowned in so many times. I’m lost at sea. They say that eyes Are “the key to the soul”, And I have seen your soul Many times. Laid bare and raw, On the soil beneath my feet. I am hypnotized, every time I gaze into your two Cornflower kaleidoscopes. They are like magnets. Drawing me in, Enticing me, tempting me. Even when I am old, Infirm and my memory May be fading, that fond image will never age, never decay, never rot. It will be forever imprinted on my brain, On my heart, on my life.
aoibhinn-sweeney
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Jan 26, 2016
Jan 26, 2016 at 6:54 PM UTC
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