If you say something with your mouth, I will stare discreetly. The fascination of a woman's mouth is more wondrous than art, more interesting than science.
The mouth speaks beautifully. It is beautiful and speaks. It is. Oh, it is.
It doesn't stop being a mouth when it speaks.
Its tongue is a pale shade of red, shapes words and contacts lips and teeth. And you are saying something, and I am staring in naive fascination.
At this moment, your mouth is all I want to study and to know. All else has become less important than it was.
My eyes listen intently. My ears stare at your words.
Your mouth is a small magnificence, a magnificent particularity. Your tongue's an impartial shaper of words. Your lips are something the Lord made.