She sees the unwavering smile I throw her every day.

She smiles back but not with favour

I desire from her, I have toiled till I can no longer labour.

Her hands, warm, empty, not touching the potters clay

That is there ready to be moulded

Shaped, pleasingly with but a moments desire,

That would keep a flight Daedalus’s flyer.

I remain untouched, virgin paper, unfolded.

Kiss Me! I dare thee!

Hold me once during my summer days,

Passion is desired, needed, thrill me.

Let me lie in the arms of She