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.