Counting all of the steps of the mountain toe
-preserving the flavours of her lips like fine gold;
Give me some time to find the right words, picking
them out for your ears performance, as if looking
through morning flowers- for a rose

The taste of her skin is clay for moulding; those
decorative smiles to hang onto the time two lovers,
can share of the night- her innocence that’s in high
regards; soaring with the doves

Luv, I hope all of my words are loved, as I watch
all of the beauty created from your hands; your
very candid spirit is endowed in your very oxygen, for
every kiss of ours is a place we are both bound to one
another… lips are the bend of history, tongues dampen
the past, as the breaths are all unto generations