Poem Hunter
(04 October 1943 / Germany)


It's not what you hear,
it's not what you see.
Love blooms in a climate of intimacy.

It is what you smell
it is when you touch
that you're drawn to her pheromones as such.

When time matters not
when you're wishing for more
you may be in LOVE to the very last pore.

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Comments (1)

H.x... Tis a Rebutt... tis not in the pour nor in glaze on the top but tis in all phases of romance... the red smolter of hot! ! tis the tingle no less of sweet lavish breath tis the somersaults of tongues... the rich of begun! ! ! Dxx