WeddingPipes.com

Oh, how I yearn for yearning!
How my heart cries out in vain,
To know your wretched loveliness
And feel its wretched pain!

How much I lust for your sweet fruit,
That withers on its vine,
Enthralled forever in pursuit,
Of that which is divine.

Some say you are a vixen cruel,
A swan that always dives
Whenever hunter’s lance comes near;
But those souls aren’t alive.

For what is this fell path we lead,
If not a wayward road,
That promises redemption sweet,
But offers no abode?

And in this absence of a house,
(No peace we humans find,)
Why not pull buttons from your blouse,
And chase your hapless rinds?

And yet, I’d like to mount such chase,
I’d love to pull a stitch,
But I’ve no thread to sew the lace,
No hand to flip that switch!

So here I stand, dame, primed for love,
I give a wayward prayer,
From your most chaste and lucid dove,
So desperate for despair.