There's this fine divine bottle of 1961 Bordeaux.
Her curves would make the strongest man weak.
From the silk feel of her hair to the soles of her feet,
ms caramel brown is far more unique than a new born baby that can speak.
Skin so smooth that when she moves you can hear the blues from the Moulin rouge.
And when she speaks she makes me melt
I dream of the day I can tread water in her milky way and release her orions belt.
While we lay in the pasture under the stars I stare into her eyes.
This angel in disguise, continues to surprise,
this prize is more substantial than any materialistic jive.
I'm so intrigued.
The peak of her voice is so indiscreet.
So much good judgement.
An educated intellectual essence,
I'm drawn to her core like a magnet searching for readjustment.
Man I'm so gone.
I hope this one is never alone.
First chance I get I'll use a virile approach.
Try to give her the most without showing her my bedpost.
Miss caramel brown look what you've done,
hope you're never out of reach.
But you will always be my drupaceous fruit,
much sweeter than any peach.