You’re the Apple of my Eye • Poem

See the bends of reds?

The black as it spreads?

A once white page inked, soaked up, absorbed

Your sponge-like mind takes in his beauty

He’s the apple made of quarts

The iris dilates to let in more light, 

But a clearer image is sacrificed

Brighter light and an attractive barbarity

In the place of proper clarity

Brain filtered out

The blind spots in your vision

She’s the apple on the television

The cones sends signals to the brain, 

Sharpens the colours from mundane

See the rose-tinted world?

The perfect skies?

A once dim star adjusting to the light

Your dream-like eyes awe at the sight 

You’re the apple of my eye