The Woman Who Shared Her Lips

The Woman Who Shared Her Lips She walked among the roses' bloom, A quiet grace, a twilight tune, Her lips as soft as summer rain, That fell on hearts and soothed their pain. With whispered words she shaped the air, A breath of balm, beyond compare, And all who met her tender gaze, Were caught in her enchanted ways. She shared her lips as one gives light, A gentle flame against the night. No need for riches or for gold, For she possessed a love untold. Each kiss she gave was like the sea, Both wild and soft, eternally. Her lips were vessels, brimming full, Of ancient joy and sorrow's pull. The stars would pause when she would speak, And shadows softened on her cheek. She kissed the broken, healed the lost, No thought of gain, no counting cost. Her lips were like the morning dew, Renewing life, beginning new. And though she spoke in quiet tones, Her kisses rang like silver stones. The woman who shared lips of fire, Set trembling hearts with deep desire. Yet in her giving, she was free— Her lips were love's own mystery. For those who took her gentle grace, Would never find another's face, To hold them quite as she had done, As fleeting as the dying sun. She walked among the roses fair, Her lips still lingering in the air.