With deep sea-secrets,
Drowning the innocent.
Cheeks of a rose bud,
Soft and subtle,
Waiting to blush.
Forehead of a pigeon,
a play ground,
for her thoughts.
Lips like a spring tendril,
Curved and fresh,
Ready to entice.
Dark clouds for hair,
waiting to drench a trespasser,
with her body smell.
Hic�hic�.hic
Is the trespasser me?!
- jamshed v rajan
