I’ve kissed a thousand lips,
Rough as rocks, delicate as dew;
I’ve been drunk on a thousand sips,
Though none really tasted like you.

I’ve opened my mouth to each;
I’ve felt the passion in throes;
But something’s always out of reach –
Something only a heart knows.

I’ve taken essence, moist and dry;
But nothing remained for me to keep;
And, no matter how hard I try,
Though I keep sowing, I cannot reap.