Whoever blushes is already guilty; true innocence is ashamed of nothing.
Jean-Jacque Rousseau
Don’t Worry Love The hot redness of her face, as if Mars, Surrounded by flashy yellow a-bright; And pure snow clouds dancing, chastefully, light. Orbit’s blush and puppy love eyes with stars. Latterly, bestie speaks it out loudly. A sudden volcanic moon of madness dries her throat, a disruption of sadness. Virginal countenance, burning brightly. Then her crush softly grabs her hand in his. “Don’t worry love. Let’s step outside,” he croons. She is startled - her cheeks begin to swoon. Fresh air cools her down. She enjoys the chills. The robins sings of lovely things - knees weak, as he brushes a kiss upon her cheek.
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