i wonder if you would do things deliberately slowly
devilishly, savagely slowly
if they could match the twinkle in your eye,
brighter than that in the eye of old st. nick
and manifesting itself in your lips and your tongue
tumbling forth in an avalanche of pretty sounding words...

a concept of hemingway- pretty thoughts
you illustrate so well with your complete existance
and the concept of pretty so well defined by your eyes and skin
(a gentle tint of pink to each, contrasting blue veins and irides)...

I frolic in the woods side by side with the wolf
and when your lips touch mine, they tease until my legs fail
and your fingers start to move before i'm prepared
and i think you're so lovely i can hardly move.