Stars and diamond,
Gold and silver; Bangles and earrings.
Oh, you beautiful beings.
In this dark I see,
Torched sonnets, words in scripted on walls and ceilings.
Beautiful phrases, good grammar.
Does this get better?
I want to read, every bit of this place. Enclosed yet open, heaven in a tunnel.
Shall I die here?
A husky voice!
Ah, treasured secrets but narrow visions.
This is love, this is lust.
I lust those lips, from which these words emerge.
Those eyes, who do you seek?
So much glamour. How words resonate in you!
Not every script is made for thy land.
Lie down with me, on the sand.
Fill every bit of this paper. With art, with music, with words!
Words that will awaken you, the ones that shall touch you.
Oh, his hand.
Sculpted with the colour of Adam, reflecting masculinity.
Not fair and fragile like hers.
Not painted, not jewelled. Just perfected.
He would hold the fountain pen, while she would hide in her den.
Her magic, his words.
The ones that read her curves.
Just above her belt, between the t-shirt; that little corner of her waist that peeped.
He had lusted her, but he loved words.
Now he loved her and lusted words.
His mysteries were now a maze.
Her beauty now his craze.