Ah, ma bichette!
You do to me what
Cherry blossom does to the wet mornings of
April,
Showering my days with such
Delightful confetti, a
Celebration of your pulchritude.
Ah, ma bichette!
Your dulcet tones do
Battle for superiority with the
Songbird, a
Sweet symphony to soundtrack my
Delirium.
Ah, ma bichette!
You’re the kind of
Girl who’d feel most at home in an
Apiary,
Queen bee, sweet like honey,
You’re clearly worth the toothache!
Ah, ma bichette!
As beautiful as the
Bloodstained skyline at
Dusk,
A haemorrhage of the sun, you
Seep across my horizon,
Delaying the darkness of night.
Ah, ma bichette! Ah ma bichette!
And you still haven’t got the best out of me yet!
Leave a Reply