That's amore.
Dean Martin of the velvet voice, with skin like a leather tan, they don't make em like you no more. The rich timbre of your sensuous voice, glides over my heart chords, plays my emotions like a tightly strung violin, strokes my inner core into awareness... into submission. Never have I wanted, to sway across the floor, caution thrown to the wind, eyes closed to experience, all you have to offer, head thrown back to catch, the rushing wind in my hair. Baby you're bad for me, like a vodka on ice, in the middle of a scorching afternoon, but I'll be damned, for the enticement of such an Italian sin, has me drawn like a moth to flame. If I had the cure to assuage, this curly haired, dimple filled addiction that is you darling, I'd rush to the deepest canal, and dump it in the darkened waters, cause what we have honey, ain't no simple relationship, no, it's amore.