Tonight I can write the sweetest lines:
When you hold my hand so dear,
As if you're securing me from landmines.
Sweet words that I so love to hear;
And a kiss that makes everything fine.
Oh! I love that you are my cup of coffee:
Its strong aroma, with a brew of romance.
A substance of my hibernated heart,
Which kicks me and pushes me to limits.
When we travel on bed, it's more like France,
To me; A damsel and a knight in myths
We are indeed. Let's indulge, again, in romance.
When you don't want me to hold the cart,
Because you want me to lead the way.
You say, "I am your servant."
I am not into slavery nor jewelry neither.
Then, late at night, with the moonlight,
The dazzling effect of the chandelier,
and a bit of ominous clouds.
You hold my hand, and I feel it. "My love, May."
He says. " 'tis o'er, thee hunt."
Puzzled. The worn-out leather,
Jacket. He put it on me, to fight
Against the chill and stale air.
And the only thing that shrouds,
Him from this chilly night is on me.
Tonight, I can write the sweetest lines!
For the sweetest lines are the painful lies.