The Lover

A kiss upon her lips; Divine!
To taste the breath of turpentine,
To trace her face of porcelain,
The milky cool of frozen skin
I ache for; Here, a lullaby
To save you from your heavy sigh,
And take you to an endless dream,
My Woe! You suffer, so I deem
Another sip to bring your sleep
Too deep, so deep that I can keep
Your body an eternal shrine,
And infinitely mine.