On the sweet April mire
our syncopated hearts beats,
is all I wish and desire.
Hand in hand,
the breeze blowing a quiet peace,
all going as planned.
Nothing sweeter than your lips on mine,
an aftertaste lingers in graceful release,
lying just beneath the branchline.
A picnic set about just for two,
cheeses and meats set out piece by piece,
right along the early morning dew.
Your presence is like an electric fire,
nothing more sudden then such a caprice,
on the sweet April mire.