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Description
It's not the lipstick gloss
that makes a kiss
but
the warm pulse beating through
her lips.
It's not their size
nor shape
but the words they whisper,
afterwards.

It's not the color
nor the length
nor the glint
of her hair
that makes her special
but
it is her smile
in the falling rain
reflecting the joy
of yet another Spring,
together.

It's not the time
she spent getting beautiful
that makes her so

but in fact
it is the hours
she was besides my bed
when I was sick
and in fact
it is the minutes
I could hear her breathe
in my embrace
AND in fact
it is the seconds
I saw her cry
(out of happiness)

Because she's beautiful.

It's not the clothes,
nor the jewellery,
nor the colored nails,
nor the drawn-in brows,
nor the words she says
to other people,

and neither it is
her past.

...

It is her mind
that entertains my poems,
it is her charm
that paints my cheeks
(pink)
and averts my shy eyes from her
most briefly.

It is her soul,
that I love.

Description
It's not the lipstick gloss
that makes a kiss
but
the warm pulse beating through
her lips.
It's not their size
nor shape
but the words they whisper,
afterwards.

It's not the color
nor the length
nor the glint
of her hair
that makes her special
but
it is her smile
in the falling rain
reflecting the joy
of yet another Spring,
together.

It's not the time
she spent getting beautiful
that makes her so

but in fact
it is the hours
she was besides my bed
when I was sick
and in fact
it is the minutes
I could hear her breathe
in my embrace
AND in fact
it is the seconds
I saw her cry
(out of happiness)

Because she's beautiful.

It's not the clothes,
nor the jewellery,
nor the colored nails,
nor the drawn-in brows,
nor the words she says
to other people,

and neither it is
her past.

...

It is her mind
that entertains my poems,
it is her charm
that paints my cheeks
(pink)
and averts my shy eyes from her
most briefly.

It is her soul,
that I love.