Tis sad, words to far and distant to be heard Sentiment of a bygone era, to faint to hear but for the chosen few Too few now to be counted and I fear too soon gone.
A brushed cheek, a flushed cheek and one heart skips a beat Hand to cheek means nothing now but to those who capture hearts and to those whos hearts need capture...
Hair in my face, a perfumes trace to speed the beat of a lonely heart Touch of a hand, nape of neck and the lobe of an ear to lighty bite Too subtle for these times but
Desire is a lost art, want is a lost need... to fast we speed and loose the charm and fervor of lust... for want is the seed of love, and seeds need time to grow.