a sonnet to your pretty eyes

I woke up and saw your eyes, so stunning 
The raging ocean upon your iris,
lined by beams of speckled light violent,
maybe deep inside your love was lurking.

Their blueish tint and your soft blonde lashes,
the way they smiled at me as I kissed you,
as I traced my hands around your purlieu,
made me burn so bright and turn to ashes.

I fell so in love when I first saw them,
your pretty lips but a small pallet:
a mere facet to the deep blue droplets,
which to see close I so deeply wanted.

Your dear eyes are the ones I so much miss,
as they reached in me, leaving me in bliss.
                

I was at a classical music concert a couple days ago. At the start, they gave me a small sheet of music in latin, with a english translation neatly put at the bottom for us commoners to enjoy it as well. The music was a love sonnet, as far as I gathered it was about this mans admiration for a girl, and the bittersweetness that her crying brought to him. After some introductory songs, a man stepped foot onto the stage and introduced the sonnet to us, proceeding to play a melody on the piano to accompany us as we read it. I cried. The soft bellows of the piano coalesced with the sound of the sonnet reading in my mind, almost a metaphor for the girl and her admirer. The soft cries of the piano and the lyrics of admiration for their beauty.

After that, I decided that I must write a sonnet, that I must write a letter of love. So here is my first attempt at matching the graceful love that was portrayed on that small sheet of paper.