Blue


Your eyes aren't blue.

They are evening,
golden streaks and jet trails,
fading day,
tints of silvery paleness and whispers of the
Milky Way.

They are raging storms,
filled with electric lightning
and silent thunder-
they pour down rain too;
I've kissed the storms away,
scattered them asunder.

They give the ocean competition,
flickering with secrets, like elusive minnows
and shipwrecked gold
undertones lost under a cerulean surface
beautiful and bold.

No, babe.

Your eyes aren't blue.

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