The setting sun could never dream
to glow as red or brightly beam.
So full and rich and full of fire.
So your beams both woo and inspire.
So deep, yet bright, and curving right.
Your smiling shine consumes all sight.
So fine, so smooth, so deeply true.
So they consume my conquered view.
“Perfect” is such a paltry phrase
when on those lines I gently gaze.
So I fail as I try to sing
of how those curves warm like the spring.
This is my best to describe what’s so pure.
So do your lips, they draw, drink, and allure.