It's not what you hear,
it's not what you see.
Love blooms in a climate of intimacy.
It is what you smell
it is when you touch
that you're drawn to her pheromones as such.
When time matters not
when you're wishing for more
you may be in LOVE to the very last pore.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem