He knows her eyes from her photographs.
He is lost in them.
In a number of the treasured images they are open and smiling. In others, they are mysterious and brooding. Sometimes they smoulder. In one or two they are soft and vulnerable. These touch him deeply.
.
He has no vocabulary to describe the colour – and besides – it is not constant. They are molasses, and coffee, and cinnamon and toasted biscuits and burnt caramel and dark, amber honey.
.
They remind him of newly born, shining chestnuts, freshly emerged from their creamy skins.
.
Her eyes make him think of gorgeous, golden, gleaming antique wood, of raw opium, and of rich, crafted, leather.
.
And of looking deep into her soul while he slowly, tenderly, expertly caresses her perfect body with long, elegant, sensitive fingers.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
.
I do not discriminate between colour of skin, of hair, or of eyes, and have no preferences. This just happens to be a tribute to brown eyes.
.
Art by Godfrey Yarek
errantsatiety
January 21, 2022 at 2:37 pm
True intimacy.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Romantic Dominant
January 22, 2022 at 5:37 am
Smiles. Indeed.
LikeLiked by 1 person
thereluctantpoet
January 21, 2022 at 3:03 pm
Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Romantic Dominant
January 22, 2022 at 5:36 am
Smiles. Thank you.
LikeLiked by 1 person