Love - what does it mean?
She is ever such a fickel misstress.
Her eyes...one minute an inviting sense of comfort,
warmth and security - the next a deep glowing red with hatred which toys with every last sane emotion in your wrenching heart.
Her lips... carved delicatley into the perfect form
drawing you closer and closer into her trap, until no part of you can control the stuttering in which is gathered in your words.
Her elegance... dress clung to curvy hips, draping over her virtually invisible waist, flowing down her pixie legs then hanging loosely.
Her perfume... made from 20 of the finest roses in existence.
Her hair... a glorious blonde which hugs her rounded shoulders and sways in the breeze every time she turns.
Her face... a perfect heart shape with rosy cheeks and a dazzling smile that would weeken the knees of any heartless man.
Her...the only one who had the key to my heart - then threw it away...
