Whiffs Of NostAlgiA

H.E.R

Her eyes they swallow;
Soul after soul.
They leave bodies hollow,
For the winner takes it all.

Her nose inhales;
The essence of Her prisoners,
As with each breath they fail;
To seek help...there are no listeners.

Her lips they tease;
Tasting like fresh Rose dew drop.
Every word whispered with ease,
An enchantment caressing from bottom to top.

Her body it speaks;
Every motion its own language.
Quarter of it's essence resting at it's peaks,
Caressed by purple cloth, perfectly packaged.

Her touch burns like fire;
Eating away raw skin, smelling like myrrh.
Her flame rises with Her desire...
Burgundy is what She is made of , yes Her...