|
![]() |
Coffee timeThere in her kitchen All the while As the kettle sang She would smile And I'd slip one hand Around her waist And with the other Would gently trace One sweet breast Let my fingers Stroke And linger Caress And tease And Try to please Until Kettle's steam Would break My dream And Coffee made I would try To conceal The need there in my eye Vote for this poem
|
|
| |