What kisses, given,
from the mouth come not?
Or gentle words, soft spoken,
“hit the spot?”
Cute little butterflies
upon the face.
But I am not a friend,
I am a lover!
And more than just your thoughts
I long to taste.
Please, pull me close,
your hands upon my hips
And read to me,
not syllables, but lips.
the fragrance writer 