You had touched me once, with skin so soft,
that I had almost thought it satin.
And I touched you back, caressed your cheek -
'twas my innate reaction.

You lay your head upon my chest;
my heart sunk in its cage.
You closed your eyes, fell thrall to sleep,
and outward went my gaze.

To my surprise, there stood a dame,
perfect in her dress.
She stood fondling her long, dark hair
that she has braided in a tress.

Down I looked, again at you,
and kissed you on the head.
I took you tightly in my arms,
and brought you to your to bed.

And from your window, at her, I stared
with my mind below my waist,
I wondered how her touch would feel,
or how her tongue would taste.

As a fool, in my vehemence,
I wandered down the stairs.
I grabbed my coat, licked my lips,
and ran my fingers through my hair.

I walked outside to the innocent,
and touched her on the arm.
Yes, her skin was soft,
but I still know nothing of her tongue...

"'Evening Sir, 'tis a beautiful night,"
'Twas a beautiful neck indeed,
"the moon is oh so perfect,
it's aura so serene.

"Sir, if I may ask,
by what do you call yourself?"
Her voice was so Sirenic,
and her figure like an Elf.

She was indeed the cutest creature -
Perfect in most every way.
And I cowered in her aura!
I do it still today!

I relieved her of my puny grip
and walked toward my grave;
for that is the only dwelling
that doth protect me from her rays.