I love you,
and I hope that you can tell
by the way, my eyes stare too
long into yours.
If I was to speak I wouldn't know what to say;
as all, I can think of is how pretty you are.
Pretty in a dark chocolate sense,
the kind that lingers on your tongue,
the bitter, harshness of beautiful boys,
the type you know you don't belong with.

You smile and I hear old dancehalls,
haunted with melodies of yesterday night.
Put your head on my shoulder, darling.
Come lay in the sun,

and watch the shadows of our grandchildren
play.