My Dire Cry Poem by Nero CaroZiv

Oh, she has these fiery slaying eyes as she lifts her head to look at me,
And her ivory smooth hands by the slightest touch can make my hands rejoice,
But to me this lover must be
Courtesy, a decorum with only a voice.

Oh, no choice, there is the lovely valley of her breasts if ever to bear my head,
And her voluptuous lips whereon my lips crave to lie,
But I must be still near her, till I am stunned dead
My chest can no longer hold my dire cry