She is by all means perfection, pretty and precise.
She has no need for correction, sugar and spice.
She has hands so delicate to touch, soft and tender.
I love them so very much, my all I render to her.
I wish to linger in her innocent mind, safe and secure.
Bad thoughts won’t reach me inside, innocent and pure.
He is by no means perfection, foolish and flawed.
He has much need for correction, the touch of a god.
He has hands so coarse and clumsy, hard and irate.
He should hold her close, but he holds her like a mate.
He has stopped her getting inside his head, sharp and cold.
She’s too innocent to mix with the dread, tired and old.