You haunt me with your quiet manner
speaking volumes in the solitude of your silence
but are my readings an accurate portrayal of your midnight complexion?
You're a mystery of the night, my soul,
is captivated by your demeanor.
Your hands are the witchcraft of Merlin
Your skin the blanket of Arabian nights
Your figure is the wand of divination
And I am your eternal captive.
Lo and behold, I'll do...