Your Face Is the Moon, Your Lips Are Sugar

Your face is made of moonlight, your lips of sugar; each is lovelier than the other. How could anyone dare to kiss your face, when even to glance at it is a bold thing? It isn't that your waist is missing from its grace; the wonder is that a belt somehow finds a waist there at all. So the evil eye won't reach your lips, on every tongue their name is 'sugar.' A single kiss from your sweet lips and teeth, dear boy, is worth the blood-price of both worlds. Why do you call my face unwashed? My face is washed in the blood of my own heart. You treat me cruelly and I beg you: don't. You tell me it's good for me, and that is worse. I make my peace with your face and your teasing glance, for in you the rose and the thorn go together.