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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I love to watch the sun rise, the way its tangerine colored rays pierce the metallic grey sky and how they dance playfully on the waters edge. As its face peers Out from its hiding spot It reminds me of everything Beautiful I’ve ever known, like My mother’s smile, infants Being born, like fresh ink On a piece of paper. Words have not been invented yet To describe the sight of Sunrise. One has not truly lived Until having heard the sound of violins Something so sweet and Seductive has no Business being compared To anything less beautiful If all the emotions in the World were an instrument It would be a violin Nothing graces my eardrums And the atmosphere Like the peaceful, poetic whisper Of a violin I love the smell of love in The morning. I didn’t know love Had a smell but then again Who really knows what love is What it looks like Sounds like Smells like Tastes like or feels like. Love smells like when We make love, it’s like a Picasso Being made, I can smell the Fresh paint on the canvas It’s literally poetry in motion Her breath is endless as her spoken word Coerces me to do things I know I want to. Her scent is so intoxicating And from that day forth my nostrils Could no longer recognize anything Else. If nothing else is heaven-sent it will always be the taste of chocolate It’s decadence needs no Compliment. The taste reminds Me of every women Ive ever loved Good and bad for me at The same time. The moment My tongue became acquainted With this piece of heaven It’s like it became me It didn’t melt in my mouth it transformed Into the shape of it and has never Left since The best feeling in the world Is the feeling of bare skin Against the bed sheets the morning After we made love. And we made love like the world was ending so we hold one another Like we died in each other’s Arms the night before And nothing else mattered but this feeling In this moment in time And I never wanted to leave So I stayed there kissing your Forehead, you taking my Hand in yours as if it were The last thing you’d ever touch Even when our bones become Playthings of the wind I hope that a museum will Keep a fossil of our figure So that others may enjoy this Moment in time forever.
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