your skin to me is a rose in bloom,

the touch of your lips,

two pilgrims, so perfect,

have success in their quest

to chase all the gloom

from my heart, a harbor

for sorrow and doom,

until i met you;

i lay now in bliss,

tremble as we kiss,

all soft and lush,

another thread on the loom

that weaves the silken

robe

of this beautiful love

we delight in calling

our own.