Her parted lips frozen in time,
Wet, in fiery red, sublime.
Dripping with passion, a sensual hue,
A masterpiece, both bold and true.

Painted , a vibrant, crimson stream,
Flows with desire, a burning dream.
Her lips, a whispered promise sweet,
A taste of passion, a surrendering heartbeat.

The brushstrokes, bold and free,
Dance with color, wild and carefree.
A painted vision, a work of art,
A celebration, of her passionate heart.

I had an odd dream wherein there was the Love.
The Love that I had never met afore.
The Love where I drew in again, again.
The Love I’ve only heard or not before.

The Love for which the world is not enough.
The Love that makes me bite my lips in full.
The Love that is triumphally triumphed.
My so dreamlike Love and trully thankful.

My Love where is no dirt and falsehood.
The Love which has no other base than love...
But my dream’s passed and I’m left alone with
Alien, so ******, feather-brained Unlove.

Your first taste
made the aftertaste
bittersweet.
On your hands,
the gleam of a silver tray.
On your lips,
red thread,
tied to my lips.
Promises exchanged in dark corners,
your shadow consoling mine.
Grey fields bloomed in colors bold.
In time, the thread grew taut,
cut by the blade in your hand.
A love once cherished,
now perished in fading colors.
Only a lingering taste remains.
Bittersweet.

I miss you sadly and so much!
And even if I just don’t know you,
Or maybe I won’t nay find you
And in no case and never lose you.

I miss the words. I miss so much
The words, that never will be spoken,
The dreams, that knotted not on me.
They’ll be fulfilled not us, but someone.

I miss the hands. I miss so much!
They would be able to hug sweetly.
I miss the hair, careless a bit,
And lips… Yes, lips! I miss them really!

I miss their touching, hot and sultry,
Which can just never been delivered.
But even as I never know you,
I’ll love you truly with a quiver.

The air's too dry,
my lips chapped,
but no ordinary balm will do.

Why don't you wear it first,
let it melt into your warmth,
then let me steal it back,

until the taste of your lips
becomes my only addiction.

Her lips often leave a mark
       on my cheeks, or in the shoulders
       of my white-clean-shirt,
       and I like it, dearly much..

       but could I have it
       in my lips instead?...



       -ManInBlack

Lips together, pressed,
as if you were the one dead,
"Wake up"-your only prayer,
but death doesn't care.
Now you can only choke,
on words you never spoke.

I want to look into your gentle eyes
And drown in them for days and nights at all!
I miss your eyes, where spring lies close.
I'm sad for them, I'm melancholy whole.

My body's darted with a shiver all at once,
When I begin to think of your strong hands.
I know, you'll never come again, my loving
And I will have only my deepest sense.

I miss your chiselled and your noble profile,
Your captivating and so sensual lips.
I wish I could hand back again even on one day
Your blessed soft voice, just though in my sleeps.