Her scarlet lips are roses
never felt.
They rarely blossom in the winter,
but tonight is the right season for them to
flourish with my heart.
Her lips are a wind that shapes stones into
pebbles.
Ripens strawberries that taste fruitful as we join
together.
Her hands smoothly and earnestly, arouse my soul
into a vivid world.
Creating havoc like a volcano that erupts quietly,
and quietly we lay,
distorting the silence
with our lips as our pulse maintains a tempo.
Our lungs taking breaths that sweetly stroke and
caress against our skin.