A Kiss, When All Is Said, What

All Our Souls Are Written In Our Eyes.

Your Neck. I Want To Kiss It.

She Is A Mortal Danger Without Meaning To Be One; She's Exquisite Without Giving Ita Thought; Shes A Trap Set By Nature, A Rose In Which Love Lies In Ambush! Anyone Who Has Seen Her Smile Has Known Perfection. She Creates Grace Without Movement And Makes All Divinity Fit Into Her Slightest Gesture. And Neither Venus In Her Shell, Nor Diana Striding In The Great, Blossoming Forest, Can Compare To Her When She Goes Through The Streets Of Paris In Her Sedan Chair.

My Wit Is Sharper Then The Finest Mustache, And When I Walk Among Men I Make Truths Ring Like Spurs.

Stay Awhile! 'tis Sweet,. . . The Rare Occasion, When Our Hearts Can Speak Our Selves Unseen, Unseeing!