Is it the flesh that lures the sculpted towards her creator
Or is there something beyond.
Why does she long to catch his feel,
Bestowing her a live form.
Carved has her creator with unmitigated adoration,
Starting from her lustrous tresses,
To augmenting her pouting lips.
Shaping her with hour glass figure to blushing her with dusky colour
Arousing her hedonistic desires,
to be rampaged in his masculine madness.
When the creatures of action and reflection are merged,
Into one soul in a serpentine dance of eternal pleasure.
Waiting is the sculpted in breathless measure to catch a feel of the mortal.
Who is so close when she closes her eyes
But so distant when she opens them.
Or is there something beyond.
Why does she long to catch his feel,
Bestowing her a live form.
Carved has her creator with unmitigated adoration,
Starting from her lustrous tresses,
To augmenting her pouting lips.
Shaping her with hour glass figure to blushing her with dusky colour
Arousing her hedonistic desires,
to be rampaged in his masculine madness.
When the creatures of action and reflection are merged,
Into one soul in a serpentine dance of eternal pleasure.
Waiting is the sculpted in breathless measure to catch a feel of the mortal.
Who is so close when she closes her eyes
But so distant when she opens them.
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