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“Her breath, a perfume laced with midnight’s bloom, Her skin, a canvas brushed with lunar gloom. She lies, a mountain range of flesh and might, And I, a pilgrim, kneel to kiss her light. Her neck, a column where the ancients wrote, I trace with tongue, each vein, each whispered note.” — Mason Carter
Her breath, a perfume laced with midnight’s bloom,
Her skin, a canvas brushed with lunar gloom.
She lies, a mountain range of flesh and might,
And I, a pilgrim, kneel to kiss her light.
Her neck, a column where the ancients wrote,
I trace with tongue, each vein, each whispered note.