Those eyes. Paralyzing. His. Hers. I have been banished into a world of agony because of those eyes. Why must there be so much held there in those miniature universes? Each unique to its owner. Grabbing empty handfuls as I plunge to my dulcet death, never seeing the bottom of those speckled oceans. I hear not what you are saying because of those greens, blues, golds. But a tiger’s eye can speak and I am born again searching those prismatic windows. At times I find souls dying. dead. gone. In response I revive them and and feast upon gleaming pupils. An open gasp, an escaping sigh, parallel to dilation. Yes. Those eyes. And when they roll back in elation I recede to a disoriented state. Help.