Eyes.
The first thing I notice about a woman. If you're allowed to stare into them long enough you can see emotion and logic wrapped up in a poetic art that you wish you could explain but words seem to lose the grasp of it. The black middle, with an infinite depth, surrounded by a multitude of colors that seem to change the more you glance at them, encompassed by a pure white, whiter than paper but still with a descriptive texture. The beauty and perfections abound many times over.
Of course, we can't take all the perfections without the imperfections. The eyes can become deceitful, causing humans to stumble, and innocence to be thrown out. Sometimes I wish for my eyes to be gouged out but then I'm reminded of the beauty of tears, and the things that words can't provide.
Eyes.
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