Small curves

Within a valley
Formed of luscious hills,
I rest content —
lulled by periodic chills.

I gaze not to the stars above,
But the darkness within —
That small chasm
Of divine sin.

How did you, with such innocence,
Hold me captive?
How did you, with a smile,
Render all, but my soul inactive?

And while your hips are bodacious
And swing so salacious
I pine, yearn, and moan
For your small curves.