to me

that I can make you smile and make you pulse

with energy

You call it an affliction that I make you

suffer from

But I tell you constantly, “No, baby…

You’re in love!”

I ain’t got you voodooed, boy, I can’t

claim that fame

But I got you under wraps, lock and key

bought and paid

You got this ring to your voice that lets me

know I’m doing right

You got this “thing” that you do when you do

your thing at night

So I guess we make a match, heavenly

for sure

And I suppose we got each other hooked on

what I like to call allure.

Kathleen JoHanna Robertson

Copyright ©2004 Kathleen JoHanna Robertson