The Sun; Its light. Your eyes; Where it shines. If I talk of his eyes you might be stunned, his eyes are like a hot morn, they melt you down with a gaze. His eyes are like a brew in the morn, that drips down the edges of a cup, you crave to kiss em' lids one more time. His eyes are like a trance, you can't wait to lose your self in it. His eyes are like a dream come true, your each swear and hard work seems worth the wait. You'd call me mad You'd call me out for the hype but there once was a man, who walked as though it was his last, had a glimpse of those eyes And the thought of death slipped his mind. [a monosyllabic poem written as part of the National Poetry Month 2023 prompt given by Ayaskala Magazine (@ayaskala on Instagram)]