My maid maintains you’re dirty
and some days I am as well.
My priest preached it’s sinful,
swears we’re going to hell.
My window cleaner caught us at it
as he peered through steamed up glass.
My chauffeur couldn’t find our turning
but he’ll take another pass.
My lawyer lectured it should be illegal
and I guess he ought to know.
My accountant added “Can you count on her?”,
she really doesn’t think so.
My gardener gracefully trimmed the edges,
then perversely probed “Did you pluck her flower?”
My psychiatrist panicked “It’s insane!”,
his rate’s rising every hour.
Love leaves logic long behind
befuddled and gathering dust.
Spends days dancing dreamily
with hope, happiness and lust.
Love needs no approval.
They may not get it but I do.
All that matters is I love you
and I know you love me too.
Copyright © 2015 Philip Craddock. All rights reserved.