“Room 342?” I queried, mild
“Try upstairs…” was your reply.
You gave a sleepy grin, then smiled
I felt my soul to quiver. Neigh,
It truly trembled at the sight
of dressed-down beauty’s shimm’ring eyes;
like Death had passed a wild night.
I stood with awe at such a prize!
I felt compelled to tip my hand
With gentle smile I replied
And with a bow, graceful, grand
You took my arm, and strolled inside.
To passing strangers this I tell
So proud am I that I was there
Lonely, lost, outside the room
Of pretty girl, with wild hair.
-
Author:
Fränz Müller (
Offline) - Published: June 9th, 2025 19:25
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 6
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments2
A beautiful poem of a sensuous nature. A lovely poetic write. A fave
A beautiful sensuous piece of poetry, nicely crafted
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