Look at you.
Shining like a beacon even in the melee.
With a body as lithe as Tay Iwar’s video star.
Unaware that always dressing as if going to a soiree,
only makes that shade of black shine brighter.
You move with the natural grace of a dolphin in water.
If I didn’t know better,
I’d mistake you for a ballerina.
But your sister tells me you get sweaty when you dance to Fela.
I have this fantasy going on about us.
You trembling underneath and me ravishing.
There’s this primal need to touch.
And if it’s not quenched,
I don’t see it diminishing.
Sing for me.
I can’t seem to get that velvety voice out of my head.
It’s worse that it has the enchanting lilt of a storyteller.
I have a feeling that when glazed with desire,
it becomes sweeter at sixteen hundred.
I’d offer you a life of la dolce vita for a smile a day,
but they say love don’t cost a thing.
I’m afraid you’d think I was insinuating that we should have a fling.
Every night, I pray to the powers that be to let you be mine.
At every first light, I feel the side of my bed hoping to see you there looking mighty fine.
But I am yet to have a ring that fits your physique.
Would you be the love of my life without it,
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