The delightful thing about beauty
Is that its pleasant box is never empty
Digging into it, one is never bored
But lust staring, down the corridor.
I’ve seen more but hers I can tell
Is the direct descendant of an angel;
Rare, charming, delightful and sweet
Fragile, clean from her head to feet.
When she passes, gazes begin to drift
She makes me dwell on a fantasy cliff
Herein my heart has stopped to beat
For her I die, she is a master piece
Do not judge me by my ordeal
Her quality gene is worth the deeds
She is a wonder, no scars and dust
Her body is so scrumptious.