She praises me with all her pretty smiles;
The ones she passes & winks to me daily;
And even the ones she keeps to herself...
She criticizes me so genuinely & sweetly;
The harsher ones are sweet in her voice;
And she doesn't even have to try for it...
She breathes just soo-sweetly during calls;
The warmth of her exhalation can be felt;
And so I imagine it on a winter Sunday...
She talks so softly that even roses'll blush;
The words escape her lips so effortlessly;
And the way she tells the three words...
She complains so childishly which confuses;
The tone of her voice tells me she's the one;
And I plan who'll be cuter - her or the kids!
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 10:15 AM UTC
She praises me with all her pretty smiles;
The ones she passes & winks to me daily;
And even the ones she keeps to herself...
She criticizes me so genuinely & sweetly;
The harsher ones are sweet in her voice;
And she doesn't even have to try for it...
She breathes just soo-sweetly during calls;
The warmth of her exhalation can be felt;
And so I imagine it on a winter Sunday...
She talks so softly that even roses'll blush;
The words escape her lips so effortlessly;
And the way she tells the three words...
She complains so childishly which confuses;
The tone of her voice tells me she's the one;
And I plan who'll be cuter - her or the kids!
And I complement her feelings wholeheartedly.
My HP Poem #344
©Atul Kaushal
