Making Love Isn't Lust

I am a single older male, the add would say. She's the other woman I would love. All morning long the birds would sing a song Of love that would be heard. In the forest dark and deep where we would Play and dance and sing the birds own song. Making love beside the stream and a deer would Stop and sigh to rest. Kissing lips the hue of which a rose would blush Here where you could cry. And we'd talk about our lives, lived loved we tried. Making love just isn't lust though other's Miss the mark their haven't tried. She doesn't mind the great length Or the girth of it. Bushes aren't green as he leans down and kisses it. The forest is deep she chose on his dream Making love isn't lust as tall tree's can be seen.