Love is a shell,
When it is not covered,
By something that will nestle it
In moments as sweet as beading faces
Of a woman, hot in exercise.
Cities as old as time,
All bow before the might of love,
When it is that blanket of eternity.
A kiss, one heated kiss,
Upon a mouth, sends through shivers.
A blanket, for it is a quilt,
Made of silk, the softest silk,
From a spider that knows not to lie,
Whose web would be a single string,
From a woman who knows not to cry.
Love is a blanket of eternity,
And I have covered a grave with it.
This bed of soil,
Is only a bed of flowers.