Sometimes I wonder
What color her eyes are
The light casts a shadow
That I can’t see past.
I know for sure they’re not brown
And hopefully not stormy gray
Blue eyes would look best for her.
Not slate-blue
Like a crashing sea
Or even sky blue
Like a spring’s day
Blue
A shifting blue
Dancing
Alive
Moving.
Fiery blue.
Not without flecks of gold and sometimes veins of
Pure silver
They must be just right for her.
Like her hair
That couldn’t be straight
Even if it tried.
And it’s not as light as blonde
Or as bright as orange
Somewhere in neutral
In between.
Or her skin
Never any less than warm tan
None of these as captivating
As her eyes would be
I know they would be.
If
I could only
Catch a glimpse.