His hair: as black as charcoal
The kind that would leave a stain
On your fingertips
When you run them through each strand
His eyes: as dark as the forest
The kind that you would get lost in
But their mystery
Would make you never want to leave
His lips: as pink as cherry blossom trees
The kind that would leave a mark
Of possession on your skin
And would only exhale languages of beauty and love
His fingers: perfectly-shaped like candles
The kind that would light a fire
Inside of your heart
As he slowly makes circles around your chest
His skin: as pale as the clouds above
Yet, the kind that would electrify your body
From the slightest brush
To the most intimate touch of passion and love
Him: the most precious work of art
The kind that makes you feel everything
All at once;
My own shot of euphoria and bliss,
Simply the most breathtaking masterpiece
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 6:06 AM UTC
His hair: as black as charcoal
The kind that would leave a stain
On your fingertips
When you run them through each strand
His eyes: as dark as the forest
The kind that you would get lost in
But their mystery
Would make you never want to leave
His lips: as pink as cherry blossom trees
The kind that would leave a mark
Of possession on your skin
And would only exhale languages of beauty and love
His fingers: perfectly-shaped like candles
The kind that would light a fire
Inside of your heart
As he slowly makes circles around your chest
His skin: as pale as the clouds above
Yet, the kind that would electrify your body
From the slightest brush
To the most intimate touch of passion and love
Him: the most precious work of art
The kind that makes you feel everything
All at once;
My own shot of euphoria and bliss,
Simply the most breathtaking masterpiece
