My Dearest

There is this invisable aurora around her I can't escape from.

This allure from her eyes, blue... such a lovely color for her eyes. Iv'e never appreciated blue as much as they hold beneath those eyes.

Her scent, sweet peach and a summer day. Honestly I wish it to stay. What a peaceful scent, calm yet distinct and trademarked to her hair. Like opium I swear, just like opium.

The curvesm to compare to the beauty of lines from a quill, who creates her? Who holds such a quill. A master of his work, and I as a poet to sit in admiration.

Its wonderful to say its as pleasent to the touch as it is to my eyes. Why does she speak so harshly to her figure? What reaches must she go to, to be beauty in her reflection. I say reach no farther, stop the false words or you will hear my response again. Hear my thoughts, and its worth the sale to see her blush.

(And to any place, any part of my body. Upon her touch it felt heavy, felt warm. Like the blood drowned upon embrace.)