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Ivory (A Tone Poem)
par
Teena Marie
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How supple your lips The kind that were meant for kissing I remember you Warm and brown And how your lips invited me to dine Candles lit (I still burn mine) Every night about a quarter past three There is a memory that lives and breathes And flows through my veins like a good drug The thought of your lips slightly parted Beckoning the kiss that I wished I could try out on myself To see if it was good enough for you Into the cave where lust and love become one You my beloved meet me half way Filling my nights and days to such extent That I still quiver involuntarily As you snap your fingers and I come running I remember you You are the artful dodger Do you remember me They call me Ivory
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