What Color Are They?

Your eyes are playing outside in the winter as a child.

My mother calls to us, asking if we want hot chocolate.

We bury our faces in the snow and stay there as long as we can bear it,

Making ourselves colder than hell so that the warm drinks seem to burn in comparison.

Your eyes are holding myself underwater and staring up at the surface,

Watching how the sunlight sings through each air bubble.

I wait until my lungs ache and my vision recoils

Before finally coming up to taste the sweet, warm air.

The wind is life rushing back into my body.

Your eyes are holding me in place on the edge of my seat,

Cold hands fidgeting with sweater sleeves as I watch your every move.

I finally break and reach out to touch you, to kiss you, 

To feel your warmth against my skin. 

Your eyes are the way shadows raise goosebumps on my arms, 

But also the way sunlight peels them away to whisper against the backs of my hands.

Your eyes are the blood humming through my veins, 

Convincing me that I am alive.