Love Poetry Eyes Novels & Stories

The exotic eyes turned down the mighty brave valour to strike with the lightning of love. The long-forgotten and suppressed hormone of love under his dragon scales started to sprout a leaflet of love. The little arousal of love in his heart made by those exotic eyes nearly gave him an ache, like his heart was pierced by a sharp sword with direct penetration. Yet his heart longed for such an ache. He wanted to witness the ache once again that how those eyes could do such magic to him.

’ The line that I wanted to ask But my mouth couldn’t open to speak Because I’m just a boy In the midst of chaos, my eyes settled on the guy in the center. A lot of things change but his eyes were still the same. His eyes that were intense and cold. The eyes that has a perfect shade of grey; like the ashes and smoke blowing of the wind coming from a fire. The fire that became his greatest downfall. I’m just a boy in love Melting into your cat-like eyes Taking my breath away Falling deeply

"Open your eyes." She looked in the mirror. I could see her eyes traveling over her body and then they lifted and met mine. I moved my hands to rest between her breasts, sticky yellowish green goo dripping from my fingers. "This is you, the woman I love. I need no outside beauty to see what's inside. I could love you like this forever." Beneath the mud, the shock was apparent on her face. Tears slowly fell from her eyes and my slippery fingers came up and smoothed them into the mud on her cheeks.

It was as if I had discovered a treasure, and I couldn't help but be captivated by the depth of his beauty, both inside and out. His eyes, like pools of endless depth, held a myriad of emotions. They sparkled with a hint of mischief and tenderness, conveying a love that transcended words. It was in that intense gaze that I found solace, a sanctuary where all my worries melted away. There was a vulnerability present, a vulnerability that he allowed me to witness, baring his soul through those mesmerizing eyes. I found myself entranced by the way his features softened, the slight curve of his lips, and the way his gaze seemed to penetrate the depths of my being.

“I see that.” She looked over at me and her eyes fell to my lips. My smile made her smile, and for the first time I saw her eyes ignite. With the moon above reflecting in her amber pools, it reminded me of the strength of a tree. The rungs of a redwood covered in sappy bark, cloaked in the effervescent darkness California had to offer. I found myself swimming in them. Falling into them and never wanting to return. The writer in me wanted to pen a poem devoted to the swirling rungs of her brown eyes.

He said, "Love is light, the prince of colors. It is blinding. It blinds even when you are concentrating on other things." "I forgot that you are a poet, Mr.Romantic." His hands cupped my face. "I know you love me too but you just keep fighting yourself because of the past." He said. I drew back my head, he raised my face to his, our eyes locked. The scent of lilacs poured heavily into the atmosphere. The moon glowed with colors and bathed my finely carved irony features, accentuating their perfection. Raymond asked, "Why does that look stay in your eyes?"

At this moment Saad remember a poem "The look of love Is in your eyes The look your smile can't disguise The look of love Is saying so much more than just words could ever say And what my heart has heard, Well, it takes my breath away." —Dusty Springfield It suits their situation….. On the other hand Meerab looked at her , her face turned red with blush. The passing moment flashes in front of her eyes, his misty eyes are like the early morning dew when he is overwhelmed with love for me; or when he finds me particularly moving or beautiful, his gentle compassionate look turns his eyes hazel, and his soft eyes express care and concern so often….. "What is wrong with him…. The moment I decide

No mirror, no filter made her feel as beautiful as his eyes did. He gently laid her down on the soft, inviting mattress, gently parting their lips. The longing in his eyes was palpable as they traced every curve and contour of her face. She luxuriated in the warmth of his intense gaze, feeling an unparalleled sense of beauty and desirability. No mirror or filter could ever evoke the same profound feeling of beauty as the captivating gaze of his eyes.

I faintly remember one of my married friends back in my kingdom saying something about looking in the eyes during lovemaking sessions. "Love comes in through the eyes," Mary Smithe had said to me. "So you must search them until you find them." His fingers pump faster and faster, an erotic squelching sound echoing in the cave. "Oh God," I moan loudly, trying to keep my eyes on his the whole time. He gives a grin, his eyes blackening with lust.

I plopped my elbows on the table, all my attention now focused on her. "Love inspires art. Writing poetry or doing any form of art is like falling in love. You feel this intense feeling and adoration towards something or someone and you either turn them into actions, paint them into colors, into sweet melodies, or into woven poetry." My eyes lingered into the midnight of her orbs that seemed to glimmer with constellations. This must be how passion feels like. To talk about something with a glimmer in your eyes. This must be how passion feels like. To adore that glimmer.