8 minutes ago
In the darkest hour of the night,
When he had no pen paper to write.
He look into her eyes with a grin,
And chose to write on her skin.
He took off the sheets, her body expose,
Turned her around, in a perfect pose.
His fingers swiftly moved with every word,
Her moans were soft, but not unheard.
A poem on his mind, but a story in her head,
She began breathing heavily, like she was possessed.
The fingers moved touched every where,
Every corner and curve,
She had been a patience slate, waiting for what she deserve.
His poem finished and he turned his around,
Her lips were trembling making no sound.
So he touched her lip with own,
Every thought, every vision was gone.
Now it was just love dancing on the love song.