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Male, 48, Hyattsville, MD
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A Few Observations of a Beautiful Woman by LWolf1906 When I first noticed her smile, I saw the smile of a person with a caring heart. A heart that is willing to reveal itself like a rose opening its petals to the morning sun. But like a rose, her heart is easily bruised by insensitive hands. When I hear her voice, I hear the voice of a singer of life. A voice that sings of painful experiences in one chorus, and of the triumphs of living in another, without skipping a beat. When I look at her hands, I see the extensions of a creative mind. A mind that can transform a plain juice bottle into an exquisite vase. If more hands were as creative, this world would be a prettier place. When I gaze into her eyes, I witness the passions of a sensuous woman. A lady who wants to be softly kissed and caressed. But like an unpolished diamond, her passions have yet been fully appreciated. When I think of her, I am both impressed and appreciative. I am impressed by her delicate smile that always warms my heart. And I am appreciative that she allows me the privilege to make these observations. Copyrighted 1991 Ode To A Nubian Phoenix by LWolf1906 Her body is like a well tuned cello, That vibrates exquisitely in caring hands. And I have those hands. Her heart beats the rhythms of ancient African drums, A sound that can be heard throughout the cosmos, And I am the drummer. Her lips are as sweet as a "Hershey's Kiss", That would kill a hundred diabetics with one taste. And I have a passion for chocolate. Her eyes are portholes to her incarcerated soul, A soul that reveals itself only to the privileged, And I have a key. Her passions are entombed like an Egyptian treasure, buried under layers of mistrust and disappointment. But I am willing to dig. She is a Nubian Phoenix, That rises out of the ashes of her oppression. And I love her. Copyrighted 1990
Ode To A Nubian Phoenix by LWolf1906 Her body is like a well tuned cello, That vibrates exquisitely in caring hands. And I have those hands. Her heart beats the rhythms of ancient African drums, A sound that can be heard throughout the cosmos, And I am the drummer. Her lips are as sweet as a "Hershey's Kiss", That would kill a hundred diabetics with one taste. And I have a passion for chocolate. Her eyes are portholes to her incarcerated soul, A soul that reveals itself only to the privileged, And I have a key. Her passions are entombed like an Egyptian treasure, buried under layers of mistrust and disappointment. But I am willing to dig. She is a Nubian Phoenix, That rises out of the ashes of her oppression. And I love her. Copyrighted 1990
