The Napkin

I woke – or did not – and found on my pillow, Bound by a knot – printed on a white napkin, Strawberry lips with a pale pink glow; Then I wished they were copied on my chin. The only mirror is above the ceramic sink, In the gloomy bathroom – But I dare not to see: If nothing I discover, what would I think? Could this kiss be less true to me? I can unfold the napkin to place in a frame Where all will know lips with a heart mold Or maybe I leave on my pocket hidden from fame Growing with me - a happy tale – so it’s told. If every morning came to kiss me awake twice I will keep sleeping - a third kiss will be nice.