Poetry

How many times I did see
how you stopped your dress
from blowing up,

for many probably a cliché
but still you stay to me
a lovely lady

where you now lie on a bed
with hair done yellow-gold,
with your right arm stretched above your head

with eyes half-open,
lips begging rose-red for a kiss
you can like a princess

do bewitching things
to any normal guy
and you look like a fairy-princess, a summer child.