In the world there are eyes
of hazel, like the nuts on a leaf sailing down a freshwater river,
blue, so deep and dark as if they were the oceans mother,
green, as if the ivy and vines and the fields of summer grew there,
and brown, colored as chocolate fresh from the melting pot and a forest cabin old and wet.

But there are only one set I want, only one set of eyes I want locked in my own.
These eyes are not the blue of the seas,
not the green of ivy,
not the hazel of things floating down river fast and true,
not even the wicked brown of decay and rot.

These eyes are indescribable.
They aren’t even the heterochromia of one in a million.    

If I was to describe their color I would only be able to describe them
as the blue of the sea
and the green of summer fields
and even the black of the spaces in between stars
who burn bright and out of time.

They are all that and so much more,
without a lick of the sinistrality
that hides on the bottom of the seas
or whatever lurks in the deep of space.

These are the eyes of a person that could be mine,
but will never be unless it is from a quick glance of a passing by.

Though I still long for those lingering seconds of contact,
between the souls of two eyes. 

-“Eyes.”