As I softly caress the lower part of your back with my fingertips, I notice the tiny white hairs. I disturbed them and they move back to their original place. Such pleasure in kissing you. I love your body and your mind. I make love to your soul. Understand that you are beautiful, you are my Goddess. You need to know that.After we make love, I become lost in lying beside you. We entwine, our legs and arms, if I could become one with you I would. You could teach me to feel. I do not know how to feel. I cry sometimes when I write sad poetry. But those are not my tears, they are my minds tears. They are real but from a make believe sorrow. You pose for me..'Do you like the way I shaved? ' You have no clue baby, you are a dream. If I could paint, I would paint perfection. I would try to paint you.But it gets in the way, this errection.Cause the perfect you is nood.I love to touch you and feel your body. Yes you are real. But you are a dream. ' If you painted me what would the painting be called? " Says she. " Lovely epitome, for that is what you are, that is what a picture of you would be called. 'Make love to me again, please." She says. ' Oooh.' Said I. 'You will never need to say please. ' I then kiss her on her neck, softly slowly, I move to her ear, mostly I breath hot soft breadths and nibble the lobe then slowly move around to her nape then down her back. While I kiss down her back, I fall in love with her again. ' I want to spend my life with you '. I said. " Ditto. " Says she. I get to her buttocks. They are flawless. " You are perfect my love. There is no way to get better. You are the best." "There is no perfect." She said." Everything has a flaw.'I stand up and take her by the hand." Come." I lead her to the bathroom mirror.'What" She asked and kind of giggled." I will show you something.I stand behind her as I wrap her waste in my arms and point to the mirror." That is perfection
This is non rhyming poetry.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem