Rainbows are nice but I am enticed by lavender,
my favourite colour when I was a fawn.
Ever since I was born,
I have kept a collection of the most marvellous marbles in my imagination,
for I am a hoarder of gazes,
grazing as I daydream about the eyes that pierce my soul,
keep me whole and humble.
I have always been a great admirer of eyes.
My lover’s eyes are turquoise treasure,
but I have adored brown eyes,
green and everything in between,
never noticing who the eyes belonged to,
or which bathroom they went into,
or what lies beneath the lace or is contained in the cotton of their underwear.
I do not care about an inch of the rest of them,
my interest has a one track mind,
yes, my darling,
your eyes are up there,
I promise you that I’ve noticed.
Any heart is a home to me,
any hole is a reason to demonstrate how shy I can be,
any hand fits into mine quite perfectly.
Spirit, serenity, sexuality,
a multiplying duality,
that grows and grows each time my own eyes glow with the beginning of love.
My eyes, dark with a side of brightness,
like a small light in a vast cave,
that grows, the closer you get,
feel free to get close and see.
A shade of brown that feels warm but distant, all at once,
just like the one I gifted to my son,
who I can picture exactly, despite having yet to see him in the flesh.