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Thursday, 9 June 2016

Poem: Perfect Match

She turned her back coldly, 
Like the weather of gray skies; 
Her lips refused to form smiles, 
He did not look like Prince Charming. 

Then she sees something he owns, 
And starts to fall deeply in love; 
Seeing him through different eyes, 
Putting on all the moves to tempt. 

Dark lace gloves and stockings, 
Sashay in her walk, smoke in eyes; 
The smiling lips are ever tinged red, 
And her hands never leave his skin. 

He is in seventh heaven, 
A haven he knows money bought; 
It doesnt matter she lusts his gold, 
As long as, together - they grow old. 

Copyright © 2016 thearcticstar

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