Each imperfection on my skin is a song waiting to be heard,
Press your lips to me, and we’ll soar like a soaring bird.
Every blade of grass on my skin is an Eden in full bloom,
Pluck it with your teeth, let passion’s poem fill the room.
Every curve and hollow is a playground for your touch,
But careful, love, don’t lose your way—you might enjoy too much!
Every rise upon the path is a work of art so grand,
I’ll write my finest poem for the beauty that you’ve scanned.
My finest poem for the beauty
© Copyright: Святослав Соловьев, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126071507681
Свидетельство о публикации №126071507681
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