I could write you dozens of love letters;
I could kiss you under the moonlight
(the moon as our witness).
I can slowly undress you under my room light,
(leaving nothing to hide)
hands running up and down mountains of flesh.
But you, you don't believe in love.
I could whisper in your ear: love poems
(or perhaps passages from Danielle Steel's novels).
I could slide my hands up and down your body,
As slow music pours out of the radio.
We could sing along to love classics from Bobby Vinton.
But you don't believe in love songs.
Things such as love and lust
Shouldn't mingled together.
So this is -- this is just a fuck.
Naked legs, lost virginities, and drunk souls
Lost in a turmoil of evening events,
That's your opinion of love.
I could sketch your name and mine in the sand,
With a heart in the middle
But it would diminished on sand and ocean.
It would be but a meaningless act of
a b s u r d i t y to you;
An act of helpfulness.
You don't believe in romance.
You laugh at romance and love, alike.
We could disappeared in an obscured closed room,
your hands on me.
Our scents mixed together in the air.
Everything is lost between you and I.