Brown book with brown cupped coffee, reminds me of his brown eyes.
His brown eyes, window to his soul,
a deep and rich hue taking over my control.
Glistening with warmth and tenderness, reflecting all that is good in him and endless.
And with just one glance, they can convey, all that they want, but afraid to say.
As the sun sets, so does his eyes; circling an eclipse, flickering golden lines.
The books I am reading
are indeed his brown eyes.
YOU ARE READING
BEHIND THE TEXS
PoetryAn anthology of all the poems I wrote for the the boy whose silent treatment made me a writer.This book is a collection of all the texts I died to send but couldn't, or unsent if sent hence the name BEHIND THE TEXTS.
