His eyes were dark brown, framed by graceful brows,
A sloped downward such a lustrous grows,
And a dark, dense eyelashes might be so thick,
His brown eyes were deep and catastrophic,
They were the rocks against the shore that destroy ships,
The trees bark that protected a hundred years from every tips,
So I wonder what the word "brown"really means,
If it's a dark-bright fire lit eyes under the moonlight beams,
Surely, those brown eyes are million hues,
Which will give a marvel feelings that left no clues,
At first glance you certainly see the beauty they behold,
But once you gaze into them, see the things never untold,
The coffee color is just the beginning,
When a black and gold seem to intertwine as it's etching,
Around of his iris the colors start to mingle cascading an array,
Having a different shades a colour of a baked clay,
So show me those eyes that are cream in rich coffee,
Such a sweet orbs of a brown toffee,
His eyes are bewitching; as if their roasted-coffee- bean,
Diffused into an iris-mixing hued cream,
Till it became a colour of sun-dried beech wood,
Which is one of the greatest features of his manhood,
An eyes that can be a color of espresso,
Rich with reddish flecks I guess so,
His eyes sparkled, the light making looking them alive,
The brown colour was soft, revealing a soul so naive,
Often I've heard...