Bad poem, anyone?
Sorceress, sweet dream caster.
The delicate, reserved sighs of your passion
carry hypnotically to my ears in trembling hot rushes of breath.
The entrancing foreign play of you're tongue, a spell.
Singing your sirens call low and soft against my shoulder,
your magic fills me.
The delicate, reserved sighs of your passion
carry hypnotically to my ears in trembling hot rushes of breath.
The entrancing foreign play of you're tongue, a spell.
Singing your sirens call low and soft against my shoulder,
your magic fills me.