The way you sit and comb your hair,
with languid strokes and shoulders bare;
your gazing at the looking glass,
reveals your pedigree and class.
The way you walk with swaying hips,
the way you kiss with melting lips.
I love the way you come to bed;
it’s in your smile. No words are said.
And furthermore, as time goes by,
no mists have melted from the eye.
If truth be told, no ifs, no buts;
it’s very clear - you drive me nuts!
For Michael's "The Perfect Woman" Competition by Charles Clive.