The sky , the hill, the rocks, the meadow,
might be perfection to a some Jane doe.
But how could i write about meadows and rocks
and Jane doe’s sight of mere perfection,
when you are here with your charm and talks
and lots of care and tons of affection.
The touch, the kiss, the caress so good,
I now know what id choose when asked sex or food.
Its hard to finish this poem without some dirt
I think i’d better stop before you avert.
I found my perfection not in the lovely sight,
but in a friend who do i love? I might.
Something this right cannot feel so wrong,
For the wrong i know wouldn’t feel so right.
You ask me to write on the scenic view,
but how could i write when my view was you.