Eyes dark as honeyed dusk,
sweet enough to unmake the wise.
In silken roots of shadow she dwells,
her gaze a moonlit snare, her breath a sigh.
The sun, enamored, crowns her skin with gold,
a radiance no mortal may behold.
Roses and jasmine weave their spell,
clouding the senses, bending the soul.
Her gait is that of the forest’s fawn,
yet her mind, the cunning fox’s art.
By night she hunts with silent grace,
by dawn she loves with a softened heart.
She moves, and time itself remembers her name.
Her curves flow as the river’s waves
To look upon her is to forget one’s name.
Nov 2, 2025
Nov 2, 2025 at 4:33 PM UTC
Eyes dark as honeyed dusk,
sweet enough to unmake the wise.
In silken roots of shadow she dwells,
her gaze a moonlit snare, her breath a sigh.
The sun, enamored, crowns her skin with gold,
a radiance no mortal may behold.
Roses and jasmine weave their spell,
clouding the senses, bending the soul.
Her gait is that of the forest’s fawn,
yet her mind, the cunning fox’s art.
By night she hunts with silent grace,
by dawn she loves with a softened heart.
She moves, and time itself remembers her name.
Her curves flow as the river’s waves
To look upon her is to forget one’s name.
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