She is perfect.
I need not be told anymore.
Part of her magic,
which I find overwhelming is her smile
which exposes her perfect dentition.
But now, I realise perfection is not the word.
Perfect sounds derogatory in fact.
Methinks she is magical.
My lady magical knows everything.
In the recesses of her cranium,
lies her magic.
A library in lieu of a brain.
Now I wonder which one is better.
She knows what makes my heart throb.
My defences are all down.
I can not deny she knows about the butterfly feeling,
In my stomach.
She just knows too much of my feelings
Now, of all ego I am devoid
My pride putrefied.
Yet my crave for her skyrockets
Just because she knows too much.
Thank you for reading. Drop your comments and opinions.
And do not to forget to touch that up V button.
[Image] https://postimg.org/image/hb2hrr78p/
