She is like a well known city,
a mountain river, shivergiving pretty.
When words savour on those lips
my ears go blind as my tongue trips
and fails to explain how everytime she sips
on wine, coloured like her fingertips
when cold, she makes me gritty, fearless
of all else, except to tell her that, as my
word melts before her eyes, beauty is
a cruel disguise for guys less wise,
like me.