3-17-12
3-17-12
Your lips, a wine, a fine cherry wine,
That I'd like to drink, drink while I dine;
To top things off, a look at your hair,
Colored strawberry red, it is so rare;
Mostly seen, bunched in a tail,
Outlining that small, round face you hail;
An epic poem, your eyes represent,
Looking into them, they tell me where I went;
Your skin, smooth, supple, and soft,
Reminiscent of a baby's cloth;
The smells and perfumes you produce,
Sweeter than blooming flowers that induce;
Induce great aromas and fragrance,
So pleasing, it brings me to a brisk cadence;
Your legs continue upwards, rising from the ground,
Climbing to a point, far from the spread of sound;
Sliding upstairs a bit, you get to the peaks,
Slightly above is what I ultimately seek;
When I think of you, anytime, morning, noon, or night,
My mind goes crazy, thinking of what might;
Often, I admit, I dream of your caress,
In the non-physical that we do, the best move is less;
Juiced up calves, sexy looking thighs,
Any day, god enough for my sore eyes;
Eyes that would get to see that great human being,
Every day, that would be very pleasing;
Her personality and verbiage, neat and clean,
Peering at her, looking for that serene scene;
When the right spot is found, not here, nor there,
I would le to find it, with you as a pair;
At times, you can be sincere to a fault,
All these niceties need to be put to a halt;
All these factions, go into making you,
All these things I need from you, I swear it, I do.
3-17-12
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