My better-half is a wealthy treasure of balmy carasses and cinnamon smile. Stacked shellings of love lingering on sober palattes snuggling conversations during winter nights.
My better-half falls back on her family quite often; love for her grandparents spreads like simmering clove. Old blessings flood in, requited genuinely over a platter of tender experiences.
My better-half is a whisperer of ginger syllables daubed in honey. Spading chilli temperament reckon to jibberish thrashes thrusted with grief into ears.
My better-half grounds our bond with teaspoons of asafoetida. Pungency in turmeric is peppery on palatte but blessing for the throat.
My better-half succumbs to ballards and books, imbued with artistic juices of wise men. Sometimes, in lieu of it, she amorously diffuses in me like scarlet of saffron in the lactic of milk.