My prairie wolf

Pulchritude within a womb's liberation at hand
Porcelain skin, delightful boldness and sweet peach intensity
Perfect in circumference, mirth of a few betwixt details of
A once tusk of wisdom that had not dared to reach such answers

The very little hands of creation, amorous novelty of reigns shared;
Strange, nothing more than a piece of the people

Elegance dancing beneath those moonlit eyes,
Tender teal glazed by perfectly stolen honey crafts,
To sing a perfect shade of amber in the end
The world could not understand

This gratitude of this completion,
Even if seven has not been reached

She stole my heart
once,
twice,
a realm I can not explain

Maybe this wolf has found her heart
When looking upon those little eyes
Why, she you see, is the golden key
Cliche indeed, but she found her way inside me