Her lips are like rose petals
That pale pink with just a hint of white at the tip
And her hips... are just strong enough for my grip
As I dip my tongue into her story line
Her life tastes like a brick of amber, the sweetness rising to the top
While the ash clings to my teeth, creating poetry in my mouth.
This poetry is how she defines herself, since she’s promised not to bind herself to anything else.
Her beauty is hardly a tool she needs to exceed expectation.
She is honest… but she is also nothing but temptation
And I almost hate him, for not letting me taste her.
Knowing he would be the last to chase her…
I don’t blame him.
Elle goute le miel, and honey is sweet but its also quite messy.
Perhaps it would be easier to resist, were he still with me.
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