You have grey eyes for me,
They’re all cloud and Cornwall in the rain
And I love them as if they were my freshwater pearls
And I watch them sparkle like the Moon,
I can eat you with your eyes,
Your stars are my apéritif.
And I take a bite of that glorious night sky
Drenching our kiss,
And I feel my heart tug harder, as if it were to bounce out of its cavity,
I feel the thunderstorms
And you’re the eye of the hurricane.
You’re that cool fog gliding across morning,
You’re a clean daisy,
Water running from silver taps,
And the taste of condensation on a mountaintop.
Grey eyes for you, they’re pretty.
Like constellations and Poland,
Like old marble, thick lenses, liquid mercury
As yummy as you.
Sometimes you flash a light shade of blue to keep it busy.
Like you’ve locked the sky into your irises for the day.
I think grey’s a pensive colour,
Not so depressing unless you blacken it a little.
But light grey, is surprisingly sweet.
Like a half-hearted smile.
Thoughtful like you.
Freshwater, and young.