My Heartbeat. - Poem by clifford mate
I want to draw her with words,
Paint her with love,
Start with her eyes,
Dark brown with lash at the end,
With her small face they blend,
I bet she trends.
Soft like a rose,
With a slight touch of Shepherd's clock,
Not round, Not flat,
Just nice shape for a beautiful rose.
Red lips, White teeth,
A slight gap in between,
You see what you want to see,
Add a dash,
At the end of eye lash,
You to will have a crush.
Well her face,
Should not be pale,
Always perfect with gray scale,
Her hair should not fall out of place,
Because she makes no mistake.
Her neck and shoulder,
Just a bit broader,
To march her lovely milk holders,
As they protrude a bit, Call it cleavege.
Her hips broader,
Her stomach smaller,
Gives her the shape of anthropoda,
With a dot for belly button.
Should I draw her thighs,
It should be a breathtaking sight,
My hand are a bit shacky,
When it comes to those parts,
For they make me thirsty,
And I don't want to be lusty,
I bet you are judging,
That is why I will draw silently.
The first thing I saw,
Tinny yet strong, Making her to stand tall,
Marching her thighs with a perfect glow.
If I finish to draw,
I must draw her toe nails,
The way her cutex blends,
With her skin tone,
Not light not dark at all,
Call her a masterpiece,
I call her my heartbeat.
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