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Her Hockey

There is something about her zit
It has this modishness that let’s me define it
For it’s not seen in a mere pimple,
Quite small, oval, pinkish and so cute.
Bulged wide with a nick of a dimple
Hers’ is from a wild wile rare stunner bite…

With a venom underneath her lulu print,
Radiating a beauty from the very soft zit.
Smelling similar to scents of the morning roses
Activating all inner reactive species
Addicted glamor and picturesqueness
All from the roses of a lovely love-bite.

It’s beyond the lustful term of love
It’s beyond the peace of the white dove
It’s beyond the blazing heat from a stove
It’s hers, lawful, true and dead on target
Yes Aye!! indubitably her hockey is a rare thing
For it’s not temporary but so everlasting.