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