Your red blushing face like a ripened cherry;
covering half of it with your strong-build arms
like a natural habit of yours, never discovered-
and I'd slip into every side of you when you try
to push me away, to the edge and far off.
But the part I love about you is that
though we quarrel, fight and spar,
we share the times no one has ever had-
and that you'd still come running back
with a face I can't resist
for an embrace, but still tell me not
to be too conceited, and say that
you're just cold; I'll still run my fingers
through your soft, jet-black hair
with you making an inaudible moan
escaping your pink lips and I
have never loved anyone this much before.