You say your eyes are an average brown, and I completely disagree. The word brown cannot fulfil what your eyes are. They’re not just brown, they’re the colour of soil after heavy downpour. They’re the colour of cinnamon on a heavy snow day. Your eyes have trapped sunlight like the sudden rush of piercing sun rays on opening a dark room. They’re the colour of drift wood. The colour of mahogany tree barks in autumn, of every withered leaf, living the last fall of it’s life, ringed with copper-ish tones. Your eyes are clear, luminous gold. They have lines like that of my palm, full of iridescent undertones. Your eyes look like brandy with honey. They look like firewood in harsh winter, just like burnt and glazed terracotta. A perfect mix of ginger and ocher with a tinge of coffee. Your eyes are a beautiful gossamer of golden greens, dusk hues and tiny dots of chocolate tucked inside flaps of rust. They are like amber strokes on a chestnut velveteen. All shades of Earth and Nature reside in your eyes.
Your eyes aren’t plain brown, my love, they’re the very beginning of earthly life; the five elements of nature.