When I proclaim
that I love you for your brains,
I’m not complimenting your smarts.


I won’t ask you to be mine
on Valentine’s,
although I’ll have captured your heart.


I’m not impressed by your wit.
Not one word of it.
Mind you, I fancy sharp tongues.


You may sing quite well,
clear as a bell.
That’s not why I must have your lungs.


Blood brightens my day.
I suppose you could say
I’ve got the stomach for it.


I’ve just polished my axe,
sharp as a tack.
The kitchen’s where I store it.


On my tongue lingers
the taste of lady fingers.
Auntie fought me, but I won.


I had her for tea
at half past three.
Now dinnertime has come.


Do come in.