His grey eyes had a settling effect, reassuring in their reflectiveness.
In those grey eyes remained sparks of the blacksmith's fire.
His grey eyes had the bluish hue of sunlight upon slate.
Her grey eyes were the flight of the dove in the cloud-filtered post-storm light.
In those grey eyes was a well set foundation, as if he was quite concrete about all that really mattered.
Sarah had the eyes of dove feathers, not the albino kind, but the ones with a hue so softly grey that they could have been pencil drawn. They had that look of birds flying on sunlit days, the shine and quick movement, yet relaxed, purposeful, at ease.
Her slate-grey eyes were the platter of a generous soul, for with each loving gaze she fed all about her.
Those grey eyes of hers are sliver-fire, you'll always want to stay within her flame. I'll tell you this, though. She only ever lets in one lover. If she has chosen you, then I hope you have the courage to follow through with all that comes with it.
He had eyes of monochrome memories, as if he were the lead in some old silver-screen movie.