Jesus cursed the Fig tree because it bore no fruit. As an idiom fig tree means a curse. Don’t put a fig tree on anyone. Jesus, I don’t want to be the fig tree.
Sunset is hued with red and purple and I am a poet watching its beauty surface. Romance is in the air….a passion which I feel in the heart…..Are you romantic darling? Your body is lyrical verses of poetry and your eyes are twinkling stars. Your breasts are figs of Lebanon. Your curves flow smooth as a Grecian urn. Let’s make the sweet poetry of love …..I invite you to my bed ….Long to taste all your sweet orifices and orgasm you to ecstasy.
Your letter filled me with so much warmth. I have instantly taken a liking for you. My love for you fills me with poems of the heart. Beauty echoes a treble, a chorus of melodies of the heart. I am a poet at heart and if I have food for my romantic soul, I am a happy person. I call you in a poem and caress you with guitar strings of the heart. Your feelings are so profound, so majestic, so filled with grandeur. I would love to satisfy all your desires of the heart, body and soul. I would love the mornings to wake up with you, with you lying in my chest….and flowing you with sweet kisses. Yes, I would love to make coffee for you and watch the beautiful colors of the sun with you. I would love to write poems for you and sedate you with love. Yes, I am dazzled by your beauty, your soul full of love. I hope you can come here to Kerala and visit me.