Hard even for Shakespeare to describe thy eyes,
Hard even for Monet to paint thy silhouette.
I could write a whole sonnet about thy hands,
soft and smooth,
as a nightingales sound so tender.
Thy hair,dancing over a one manīs land,
with its scent so overpowered,
and its touch forces me to surrender.
Oh thee,thy sweet contender
All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Karoline Goldberg.
Published on e-Stories.org on 08/04/2007.
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