When I was tempted to sculpt your Eyes with my words,
Those corners adorned by clear sinusoids,
That robbed the sclera its immaculate white.
Desires selfish, lingered a vehement bite.
And when They were on me,
I could see the flames bluer than the sea,
Knowing why some thousand moths marched into Them
In all their ardour, in all Their fame.
In the eon that passed by between the blinks,
I sat transfixed by Their sublime brown, the iris too dared me a sink.
My ego vetoed against a praise commonplace,
As I let this connection sap on my linguistic intelligence.
My limbs felt bloodless, I had to quickly avert,
To stop the cold circulate – before it consumed my heart.