Grabbing Her, tight

Hey, crimson stone, these curves of this violin are similar to your hip,

Where I love to rest my cheek all the winter mist.
Resting my chin on your shoulder, 

tickling your spots and touching your soul 

like my fingers gliding on these sensitive strings.

When Your long hair gets blown on my face, 

everything turns calm with an unbearable peace. 

With a slow wink of your earring and those blushy cheeks, 

I kiss your neck, an antidote to all the poison, which gives me peace.  

-Wishyou