The curves of your soul and body have the precision of an ancient stroke, a calligraphy in ink and flesh where my fingers learn to dwell. In your womb, the harmony of your waist evokes the arm and body of a guitar: soft chords that the hand caresses, a promise of sound, rhythm, and passion. Your almond-shaped eyes hold mysteries, a veil of silk that desire unleashes, and in the touch of skin, the sound rises between sheets of satin and silver. You are living art that bends and trembles, a prolonged note that echoes in the dark; in each of your curves, my body loses itself and ignites the fire of our future.