I began writing about your eyes,
how I love the lines that live beside them,
the juxtaposition of the youthful glimmer and the aged glamour.
I was going to write about your eyes,
but I saw them watching me,
begging your lips to ask,
if I was bored.
I think about your eyes,
laying in your lap,
staring up into comforting cocoa,
that goes from my eyes,
to my throat,
finding words to give to you,
so that you know,
I’m never bored,