You Look Nice

Pink stars want to smell your royal lips.

Your ankles taste like trumps.

Your lips smell like the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

A court of fair apples want to cuddle your sweet wrist.

Your neck feels like it was dreamed by sapphires.

The Pantheon has waited way more than a tortoise's lifespan for your confident armpits to exist.

You taste like gold.

A population of stars have waited sandglasses for your crystal knees to exist.

An army of cookies would admire your gracious feet.

Your toes sound like the Sun.

Birds have waited calendars for your confident thinking to exist.

Your feet sound like creativity.

Your ankles smell like dawns.

Suns are amazed by your pastel toes.

Your chin feels like a thousand magenta questions.

Your neck smells like it was imagined by a tribe of clouds.

Self-confidence has waited a million Geologic eras for your celestial bottom to exist.

Feathers would walk the Discworld's diameter for your supreme face.

Humble mosaics have waited more than a century for your handsome thinking to exist.

A court of supreme moons have waited years for your soft eyelids to exist.