These are the eyes in which he sees a soul
better than ever I thought possible.
This the face for which he would go to war,
the one he inexplicably seems to adore.
These are the breasts he loves so much,
the nipples his lips yearn to taste and touch,
this the tummy of his dreams;
this the mouth his kisses redeem,
these the thighs glazing or’e his eyes,
this the bottom he watches going away
and from which his eyes never seem to stray.
And taken altogether he makes me me,
the girl of his boyhood dreaming,
all by his desire, by his insistent loving.

I didn’t exist before he came with his love.
I was someone else, a girl unheard of.
Then he was there, suddenly everywhere.
He walked where I walked, his presence filled the air.
Suddenly it was incredible to be a girl.
And I was thinking, his soon to be?
And so it came to be that he loved me.
Dear God he loves me!
Oh Jesus he loves me still!
Loves me fancy. Loves me real.
What can I do? Was it by direction of Him above?
How did I come to deserve this love.
Oh sweet Jesus, I am the song in his heart,
his stringed instrument, the soul of his art.
And as he bow me and pluck me and stroke me
I am become his artful melody.
I am his Songstress, the source of his fever,
the song of his life that will go on forever.

Yet I am a song only in his sight.
Absent long from his gaze, I am shallow and trite,
without rhythm, a discordant cacophony,
a musician discharged for want of simple harmony.
Unseen by this become so necessary man,
I could so easily have become another’s paid courtesan.

He put the puzzle of me together and called me complete.
Just by looking at me, I became a most marvelous feat!
In his eyes alone I am a mind and being coherent.
Look at me! Dear God, I am become so damn dependent!

Please God let him never take his eyes from me
lest I cease entirely to be.
I am his creation more than my own.
Whenever I feel down, or alone
I envision that sparkle in his eyes,
and trust I am still the diamond in his blue skies.