A sacred space, her eyes.
her wounds have grown
into thriving over-grown scars.
The blue within, bewildering,
her experiences, expansing further
with each high-noon sky.
Iridescent greys, as warm as her influence,
her hands are eager to touch,
your face, your heart, your soul.
Her hazel eyes are hopeful,
if you are lucky enough,
the presence will be all too real.
Hazel, her eyes speak through the cracks,
of a heart, fractured,
woven tightly shut over this lifetime.
Beneath her stormy, sensual gaze,
the foolish have tried to break her.
Shielded, she protects her eyes,
accustomed to salty waves and tides,
vast oceans of grief,
they have drowned,
Her heart, defeated,
Her vulnerable gaze,
frightens the weak.
Only the valiant might chance her,
piercing her delicate heart,
matching her bravery,
quietly, with patience,
equaling her stare.
Her gaze is a force,
it’s rhythm, intimidating.
Your arteries will pulse with intent.
This metamorphic sensation
alarming all your senses.
Your heart will adapt with ease,
to this new guise and breadth.
This soothing pattern and flow,
absorbing into the calm,
forever replacing you,