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my bedroom eyes

my bedroom eyes,

looking seductively-thirsty, 

without any serious intent,

or any passing courtesy. 

merely observing the beauty, 

of the women I've seen,

and sometimes, I admit, 

I can't help but to dream.


my devilish eyes,

caught in the enamored glance, 

as brown and soft as fur, 

held with hers by bechance.

I'm presented with then,

a point to which I must decide, 

do I confront the moment I inadvertently created, 

or do I turn my head and hide?

I accept the latter.


her fellow eyes, 

like a masterpiece of art,

defines me in that moment, 

as a man with a heart.

for I know my eyes do flirt,

and this I cannot control, 

but my heart belongs to another,

both my heart and soul. 









 






 

 




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