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You sometimes tease me
Saying that all I care about is pleasure
With me, there’s not a sound without a touch
Always holding, caressing, enfolding, kissing
Sighing, moaning, needing, giving
I’m a hopeless sensualist
You claim, indulgently stroking my cheek
As tears glide down my face upon your fingers
For despite your caring gesture
I feel so hurt by your words
How mistaken you are!
Are we strangers, my love?
Don’t you see that the pools of my eyes
Always mirror so intimately
Your handsome reflection?
I carry you in miniature everywhere
But you are greater than all of my desires
When we unite, feelings and pleasure
Are one, each implying the other
Yet as the latter passes, the former still remains
Oh, how can I explain? Perhaps like this:
Our love’s the touch of moist, warm fingers
Leaving unique imprints of emotion
Upon the coolness of life’s windowpane.
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