Spoken of the flower to the earth, would then that you would grow from me.

Your sweet petals, the soft fullness of your nectar dripping

always giving me more than ever I was able to get alone.

Gentle there her breast, full soft puckers her lips,

eyes filled always with magic like flames eternal.

What manner of magic then is this?

Woman surreal softly feel my breath first

The lips so near their warmth promises.

A Kiss

Dearly would my nostrils catch and ingest your smell.

The soft wildness of your hair,

The delicious aroma of your flesh,

If only dreams could respond and be real.

Hand hungry to play there,

Imaginations fires "Your dear moans"

And what of plays where words become a touch

and touches a probe and probes something special internal?

Ah, fires then to share and more.

Wishing you some sweet portion of the magic you've given me.

Finis et amour, gragilis a bella flore

Lowethor 2002