It’s not your height, your shapes, your eye color,
nor the texture of your hair
but the sweetness of your lips.
It’s in your character, your personality,
the way you smile at me,
but mostly in the taste your kisses leave me with.
As a bunch of ripe grapes, which don’t need any cream,
or sugar or pie crust to be complete,
I devour your avid lips, which never cloy,
and I can’t stop till there’s no more.
And I feel If I could live off grapes my whole life,
off grapes and your lips,
I wouldn’t touch the grapes.