I have to stop writing about brown eyes. But they come up so often, glistening of golden dreams amidst the chaos of sunsets as the weak strains of the last strip of sun collide with his hair imprinting themselves in something like a tattooed art for. Brown eyes are so common, so familiar so easy to write about. Brown eyes.
Enriched with a smile that started with the twitching of lips…biting of lips…parting of lips. Eyes murmuring a single syllable again and again and again. Eyes that peak from underneath the duvet. Eyes that carry the stars in their milky ways. Eyes that embrace the morning sun with a pang of redemption that they don’t want anymore. Eyes that squint at the light so accustomed by the darkness of this wayward way of life.
Nocturnal glory likes to wander in them in black satin or perhaps black velvet if it’s cold. And though they are brown and brown is associated with warmth. Velvet might be what it wears the most. Because they carry the warmth of sin. Of lust. Of creaking beds in unknown cottages far away from everyone we know. Brown eyes that whisper their dreams so untouched by the defunct roles that we unknowingly adopted.
Dreams of lucid silk wrapped around the corners of the smile that basks in the setting sun. Though I know it will be gone soon, soon as the sun decides to come up again. It will be gone as we move away shifting of eyes parting of lips parting of smiles parting of ways.
Though his brown eyes carry so many memories in clichéd songs and secrets kept in boxes whose monsters we only stir. Sometimes they rip open and that smile comes rushing back until the next sun. Until the next day. We don’t even know what we’re doing anymore. But it seems we like hiding from the sun. Too much light. Too less golden. Too less satin. Too less velvet. Too less lust