her moans. touched me like the whiskers, of a whisper - that vanished too soon. The sound plays like music to my ears,
reminiscent of my favorite tone. The sounds of her lips,
shaped from her mouth, I feel in love with her sound,
the moment she let the first note out. Poetry, by love divine,
is the music to my spirit, played by my heart. If I don't know what to do,
its means the only answer is to start.  For our only true judge is time until that day we have to depart.