Your gentle hand, it fits so well in mine
Though, by comparison, it is so small--
And when our fingers meet and intertwine
You take me as your prisoner, bound, enthralled.
Your smile, although its purest form so few
Will ever see, shines forth in blinding light--
And when it turns on me, I hope anew,
And for your heart once more renew my fight.
Your lips, they brush my skin like fairies' wings
And cause my racing heart to skip a beat--
They give me faith to trust in all the things
That your eyes say to mine, each time they meet.
Alas that cruel fate from me would ban
All three of these: your lips, your smile, your hand.