Your eyes weren’t meant to stare at the ground, pretty girl. They’re the k
Your eyes weren’t meant to stare at the ground, pretty girl. They’re the kind of eyes that call sailors onto the rocks, to dash their ships against them and create new wrecks for you to pick clean. They’re the kind that contain galaxies, your iris a beautiful mess of stars and nebulae, colour and heat dyed through. They’re wet with reflection, and I can never quite tell what I’m seeing. The image seems warped, turned somehow by you, and I want to know what it is that you’ve changed. They’re the kind of eyes that need to meet mine. They’re the kind that shouldn’t waver, and don’t need to be obscured by tears or blinked away by a flustered mind. Hold me in them, just as I hold you in mine. Have the courage to meet my gaze, and not descend into a desperate surge to the floor, to both hide yourself from the way I look at you, and hide the heavy flush on your cheeks from me. Hold the course, pretty girl, because I want to look at you. I want to get the measure of you. And you don’t want to be found wanting. -- source link
#eyelashes#freckles#dominance#submission