"Don't be too shy in replying", she said
as she turned with a winsome smile and went;
"you should call me, any old time you want."
I liked how she looked that little bit sad,

but happy as well with a smile a mile wide
that pushed up her cheeks and dimpled her chin.
It started a fire that raged deep within
me and caused me to feel like i would

if i won a lot on the lottery every week.
I liked how she said, "don't be shy" as it slid
from her ruby-red lips. I felt ever so glad
that she did, that her grin turned me weak

at the knees, and croaked like a frog in my throat
my "goodbye" as i watched her retreating back.
She has me, completely, and knows, at her beck,
at her call; in her thrall i am thrilled, am caught,

and glad of the catch. What a match! Oh for the day
when she welcomes me wholly into her life
and wishes out loud that i'll never leave,
never cleave from her arms, where i'll die

the happiest, joy-begot man in the world!
Yes! I could and i will, if only she might,
in like fashion, my passion fully requite.
Yes! To live with my love would be swell, would be wild,

fulfillment, completion, ambition sublime.
Yes! To her request i'll reply in a flash;
in fact, i'll do it right now, in the flesh,
the flush of a blush on my face in its prime

to mirror that hue on her own rosy cheek!
Yes! I'm going, i'm leaving, to hell with delay,
to tell her my love i'll no longer deny.
Each day that i do drags on for a week,

a week that i cheat on the love that i feel,
this love that we share, that i care for so much;
her touch is my cure for we are a match:
our love is that Strong, our love is that Real.

MP 4-86/6724