At first, it was Blue
then it became Green
then Orange, then Red,
Purple, Blue, the Violet
Her presence is a colourful dialect.
Expressions of her curvy gellable
sets a milestone of happiness,
Dotted lines linked from the moon
to her deep blue sky of ravenous.

Different language of pretentious words
A feathery pen filled with the ink of dreams
Fountain of warm water under the pillow of cold breeze
Taste of various flavours with a cherry on top of all creams.

She is an adobe of sweets and spice
Being around her feels like fun and nice
She dances like a kiss of the sun
in a cold winter mornings
Flutters over a pack of dandelion
to blow the seeds with her wings.

I have so much to say
But drowning in a lake of words,
Cause, she is just another sonnet
of Shakespeare’s dream herds
Many more dots after every sentence I wrote,
This is you, beautiful lady,
Always be like this, a colourful tote.