His sea-foam eyes fogged in grief as he reclined upon the couch, a grief that spanned callous years, per-chance a decade or three. The dirty mullioned windows stole his attention in full, its beams rotting at their leisure, its panes pollution smeared. I imagined them to whisper, the man and that imposing window, to hold the most sympathetic of communions. Then all at once, ever so fast, he reaffirmed my gaze and held it strong, as if it were my very hands he clasped. His eyes glossed as a glacier in summer heat. I prayed, how I prayed, he’d welcome these sparks and fan these flames. For if his inner hearth could roar once more, he’d be restored and lament no more.
Those blue eyes were ocean-strong, swimming with warm sun-lit currents.
I hadn't realised that blue could be such hot fire until I saw those eyes.
Her eyes were the blue of every dancing sky, infinite hues illuminated by newborn light.
Slate outer rings with teal all the way to the black, those blue eyes fixed me in all the best ways.
One glance of those blue eyes told of a lifetime of struggle that had never been put into words.
If you have ever seen blue fire perhaps you have an idea of how passion transforms blue eyes.
His eyes were the blue-green of the mountain lakes, hues that could tell tales of sky and evergreen giants all the same.
In his blue eyes a golden caramel radiated from each pupil as if it were a bright new sun.
In those blue eyes were the sweetest threads of caramel.
The emotion in her eyes was fathoms deep, yet they carried the warmth and life of the sunlit surface. They had a thousand hues of blue and a small touch of hazel radiating in softly swooping arcs.
Her eyes were fire in water, if you can imagine such a thing. They were passion in ice. So even on our first meeting I knew, she'd be a friend for life, never dominating nor submitting, but a companion who walks freely alongside. And that she was and more. There were days she looked at me with such love and playfulness those blue eyes became butterfly wings, hers and mine.
His eyes were a perfect spring sky, his mind clear and his smile warmer than the gentle sun.
Through the open door came the most expressive eyes, expelling the last of the night's sleepiness from our minds. They were the colour of a clear blue sky through a broken prison wall; the colour of a perfect raindrop on a blue aster; the colour of a river hurrying to join the great ocean.
His eyes were a brilliant electric blue.
She would describe his blue eyes as the color of the midwinter sky,