How about her?
Is she the one or do we differ in that she will die alone?
It may be she will find a man
She may marry him and bare six kids but when she dies she leaves them all behind
I plan to leave with my arms firm around what is mine.

She mightn't seem the kind
But we never know until we try
So let's finish up the wine and read her some poetic lines.
And just for her I'd write something ****.
Tales of how we'd toss and tumble
Drunkenly around corset laces and belt buckles fumble.
Tell her as I wipe the hair from her eyes,
lean in real close and whisper of a passion to envelope a night.
Watch her lips tremble and muscles quell at the thought of just me and her and sweat and love.

Soon I find that her eyes shine too bright and full of her ignorant life to be what I'm looking for tonight.
The lust we share is just a body talking
But I won't deny it it's thrills,
after all it's barely mines.
I'll just use it to say 'St. Adam was here',
Like the marks on my back say that you were there.

If she would arise to watch me leave I can honestly say she was worth my time.
I could have been out searching for love and all the finest crap,
But sonnets are written for more than one great theme
and I'll find mine in debauchery and a most sensual kind of treachery.

Love for me will never be easy to find
For I have created a foul depiction of Aphrodite.
Should I propose she wouldn't hesitate to find her prettiest ****** robes.
We will race through forty floors laughing and crying till the summit
Where she will whisper, 'I love you'.
We will walk.
Each step another vow,
Closer and closer,
Hand in hand,
Eye to eye
And lips to lips.
She is everything I desire.
She is a bride to hug as I watched skyscrapers rise
And they watch me fall.

Love and immortality run parallel for me.
So I'll stick to wine and pretty girls
Who under my words take the place of ******
And I'll never die.
For they'll applaud me for years.