She has summer eyes. 

They are not peaceful, or soothing—

They blaze with the confidence of a July day,

They are blue-hot flame,

Searing sapphires,

Alight with passion and wit and bright laughter. 

They are the summer sky above an inferno,

The cerulean tongues of flame in a forge, 

Specked with the gray of steel-ash and silver dust

They are blazing cornflowers

They are light and passion, ready to burn

As only would befit the most vehement of seasons. 

Her eyes are not peaceful. 

They are piercing blue firestorms,

Churning whirlwinds of chaos, 

Aquamarine heated to its melting point. 

They are burning gemstones

Bonfires of blue-flax

So full of life they are intimidating

Dazzling, inspiring, sparking with joy

Her eyes are the daring, turbulent ocean—

They hold just as much zest and danger

They beckon you, ready to shipwreck you 

Into oblivion on a whim. 

Her eyes are blue fire and light, 

A void of creation,

They gleam with the embers of life itself. 

They are exuberant and dangerous, and as inviting as the sun—

Beautiful from afar, incinerating up close. 

She is lively, and lonely, 

Two blue oceans burning in the dark. 

Her eyes are warmth-giving, pain-inflicting

She is power. She is pain. She is beauty. 

She who has

Summer eyes.