The beauty lives on fingertips
The eyes are shut, the heart is still
You lick the wounded rosey lips
Perhaps you are not a little prince?
The beauty lives in watcher's eye
That is, if looks are all you've got
I'm no James Bond to spy
And no squirrel, though i have nut.
The beauty lives, intensifies,
And then I come to see the light
The depths to which I fall inside
Were never meant to be described.
The beauty lives to procreate
But some don't see it, such a shame
Their barren logic spews the hate
God knows why, it's so lame
The beauty lives, and it's your age
I see it every single day
It has your voice and bears your name
Perhaps the beauty wants to stay
A tribute to the beauty
© Copyright: Львов Лев, 2021
Свидетельство о публикации №121072502316
Свидетельство о публикации №121072502316
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