My Lovers: One Accepted One Not

My lover, she melts me, like a frog on a lily, Watching the days pass hurriedly by. I lay there, hands cradling my head just gazing, Peering up through the clouds in the sky. My lover, she walks beside me, with pride, with swank, Announcing a love that’s purely in fashion. Walking the streets, satisfied with each stride, Graciously holding ourselves with our passion. My lover, he’s private, hidden away from the lily, No laying, no watching up through the blue. No being seen down town, holding hands, being close, Our desire’s a conventional taboo. My lovers, they hold me when I wish, when I long, When my body secretly wants hands which raise. I wish this town would invite and accept, Instead of sinning our yearn, from words learnt on Sundays.