Golden Hour Eyes

By Valerie Patrick

Your eyes are like honey, dipped in sweetness

The epitome of absolute completeness

Your eyes are what the golden hour is meant to be

The summer sun filtering through a tall glass of iced tea

Your eyes are the soil I want to root the rest of my life into

The forest of winter trees I want to keep wandering through

Your eyes are warmth, radiating comfort and home

The tea-stained edges of a historic tome

Your eyes are the coffee that wakes me

The cover of a leather-bound story

Your eyes are hot chocolate on a cold, windy night

The hickory of the desk where you write

Your eyes are a sculpture of mahogany

The only eyes I ever want to see