Extract from Native land

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd,

Sir Walter Scott   

First kiss

Wrapped in your arms

My kingdom

Warm breath,

Frozen in numb of silence

Thoughtful heart,

Ignored shame that risen after each year

While wandering honey bee lips

Soaked up your rosy lips

Sweet fragrance of fresh flowers

And soft flavor of apple

Still entangles me