I saw her at the Museum

the art gallery with stained glass,

songs of monks through hidden pipes,

my childhood at a Catholic mass

But I'm older now, so is she,

a priceless work of art so fine,

like a painting by Monet,such beauty,

O to taste her like a rare wine

A scented scarf around her neck

bracelets on her arms,long blond hair,

I am no Prophet, but she is a Revelation,

my eyes tell me not to stare

We met near the Inca Kings

her eyes were a lovely Jade,

her siren smile, we ate a peach,

in her arms my will did fade

In the depths of the sea, her kiss,

plunged the depths of my romantic soul,

we talked Poetry, lived Erotica that night,

our Passions united, talking of Michelangelo