If you were mine, if you were mine

they’d never see us more than half an inch apart.

No one could get a piece of paper

in between us.

 

There’d never be a time

when your hand was not in mine!

When I wasn’t running my fingers through your hair.

When my arm was not around your waist

and my tongue wasn’t tickling your ear.

 

I could always be found

unbuttoning your shirt

with quiet surreptitious fingers

and gazing into your bluebell eyes with

love love love.

 

If you were mine, if you were mine

we’d never ever waste the time

with niceties like conversation

or silly things like food

and drink and sleep.

Or other people.

In love I’d always keep

you close.

 

If you were mine, if you were mine

I’d tie you to the bedpost

with my garden twine

and scatter rose petals on you

and with comfrey and with celendine

I’d drug you ‘til you didn’t even know

that you were mine

 

And we’d make love

on the village green

and people would smile,

happy for what they’d seen. . . . .

 

If only you were mine.