Aubade

At dawn this song of love is sung, A sweet Serenade carressing, a beauties eardrum, Lost within the sweeness of this melody, we slowly slip in and out of reality, More than mere clothes shall come undone, Words are left to be pondered, and replayed, A repition of my Crimson heart beat. At dawn this Song of love is sung, A sweet serenade, carressing a beauties eardrum, A faint tinge of blood rushes to her cheeks, Love dost touch the faint color from the heart, Marks upon the mind are made, from the gentle notes of this serenade.