Poetry

Shall I compare your eyes.
With the darkness of my heart?
For the pleasure of a lustful beauty,
Can only an impure heart enjoy.
What is pure, is always bright,
And bright and black can’t bed together.
Your eyes call me, as does an eye of a tornado,
That only grasps, squeezes and devours.
So, look at me one more time.
Let yourself be my siren.