Passionate Whitebird

Her touch is weightless feathers

Like a whitebird

But whitebird does not get to fly

It is tight in her hands, nails and fingers

Her lips suck

All star that is surrounded

But (maybe) her lips are not sweet

'Cause she passionately weeps

Her eyes fixed in my chest and my pulse

They had some kind of starvation

They would want to make another pulp

All I did not expect was explanation

Her nose breathes my sherry perfume

When she drinks it

Looking for a new bloom

That was a greatest gift