Your Neck. I Want To Kiss It.

You Must Believe Me When I Believe, And Not When I Doubt.

After All, What Is A Kiss? A Vow Made At Closer Range, A More Precise Promise, A Confession That Contains Its Own Proof, A Seal Placed On A Pact That Has Already Been Signed; It's A Secret Told To The Mouth Rather Than To The Ear.

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.

A Kiss, When All Is Said, What Is It? A Rosy Dot Placed On The 'i' In Loving; Tis A Secret Told To The Mouth Instead Of To The Ear.

My Wit Is More Polished Than Your Mustache. The Truth Which I Speak Strikes More Sparks From Men's Hearts Than Your Spurs Do From The Cobblestones.