How dare we discard the color brown as though it is less than?
We will romanticize the bluest of sky eyes, yet there is only love for brown
When shown in the sun
Why must we yearn for ice cold
When we can have the warmest brown, one that is so dark you could fall in it forever
And never hit the ground?

Eyes that hold the soul so deep, that diving in is only scratching the surface
And you, what a shame that you cannot see their richness,
But if I might describe it to you; it is the smell of a tree, and sanded wood.
It's the feeling of a polished, smooth surface,
The feeling of a warm towel being wrapped around you after you are done swimming,
Hot tea soaking to your very bones.
 

The comfort of a gentle touch, and the feeling of your hair brushed and tucked back.
The sound of a satin voice, and a bass that you can feel in your very bones.
The sound that your heart yearns for so much, it cannot help but keep time.
Words fail to describe the richness of those near-velvet eyes,
And the comfort such a feeling brings to the soul
Of one longing for something warmer than ice.