Mature and lovely,
a little velvet stomach,
chop stick thin is not my taste,
Everyone can do as they like,
I prefer your curves.
Slovakian cuisine should be famous,
Because when I look at you,
It is a woman for gods,
I love you and how you are,
For me it is perfection,
A body in balance.
When the dim light shines through the blinds,
Shadows is drawing curve lines on you,
Lines of black and white,
Shadows are the making of forms.
Draw a perfect shadow and the image are clear.
Sadly the shadows fade when the sun fades,
I could watch for days at the perfect picture,
Never would I be able to draw than,
But it doesn't matter it sticks in me,
Like a poster on my brain.
Now I understand why Cindarella sleeps,
It must be the shadows from the throne bushes,
Shaping her I black and white,
Like they shaped your contours,
Vividly sharp like with dark ink.
Even I have seen this many mornings,
Experienced it in moonlight,
I wish to sit at the bed watching,
Being happy for natures images on you.
You are my perfect image..
Made by dreams illusions fabric,
The stuff that doesn't exist,
But are there only to see to watch,
In a brief wonderful moment,
Sleep well with my kiss.
