When I talked to you, I was afraid
I would lose my wit like Serge meeting Bardot.
For I can’t write Je T’Aime,
as badly as I would want to hear
your breath breaking in a way
that the Pope would ban me.
You are as beautiful as she,
and should be immortalized in
song and statue the same way,
instead of the poor ramblings
of some schmuck,
infatuated by a goddess.