Warm lips that form a perfect cupid’s bow,
that hold the morning sun within their smile.
Lips whispering to me in darkness low
and linger on my cheek the briefest while.
Pale lips that bring forth words from heav’n and hell,
that fills my heart with joys and with pains,
that takes me to the clouds where angels dwell
and curl around my heart like iron chains.
Cold lips from which the words of anger float,
then quiver with the thought of what they said.
Those cold harsh words that formed within your throat,
cold words once spoken can not be unsaid.
Hot lips that drip with passion of the night,
that begs for usage in the darkened room ,
that whisper to me ere the moon takes flight
and offer me their sweetness to consume.
Red lips like petals of the passion flower,
that part to breathe the honeyed breath of love.
Those lips that my lips gladly would devour,
whose honey I would taste again thereof.
Sweet lips that greet me with a loving smile.
Lips brushing mine with gentle sweet caress.
Those lips that frame the brilliance of your smile.
Those lips that to me ever more impress.
That’s the original. Just if you care for sources.