now that I’ve wiped the tear
I have composed m’self of course.
But may I say, my lovely girl
that I would be so much obliged
if I could borrow (no, not steal)
your soft hands, the ones that hold,
with just the right degree of grip
my face (the temples turn me on)
and I would truly be a happy man
if you would make available your lips,
I’d give the world and all its riches,
to have your lips to kiss when sadness strikes.
I’d try to, well reciprocate what I enjoy,
your gentle bite to confiscate the lower part.
I never told you, Sweetie, how I love you though
I’d give you all, on top of lips and hands and more.
You know, as well as I, that there are things
that one does not put up to share, they are our own,
and that I jest, (perhaps I tease) to let you know
there are no bigger and no better grounds at all,
and I am longing for the dew drops as they fall.
I hope you see my little words for what they are,
they speak of love because I love you, warts and more,
and if I lust for you today and from afar
it’s just to please upon my skin each little pore.