Tasting your lips; is so close to sipping on wine, I tasted your
maturity, the finest savoring of your very worth- after every
kiss, I’m left so lost for words.

Lost in the loud colour of your lips; a crimson night- where I had
very well kissed a dream. You were sleeping below my chin, resting
on my chest, and I slowly kissed your forehead to lift your eyes open.

You thanked me, for being someone who loved you as the person you
are; and not what you had been before. Your sanguine lips whispered
the loudest secret; with a vestige of your spell. I read the tales of your
lips-an odour of your past, spoken in their shaking trace; a mute tear
on your cheek; searching for someone to rescue you in these long nights.

Waiting for a knight- we met each other while lost in a night. The guise
of people’s eyes, could never shape you out so perfectly; as perfect as
each one of your curves. From greeting so many people with our lips;
you could taste a thousand of them, but only have a fondness for one.

                                                       Your lips, are my perfect sonnet.