Scarborough Fair Lady Poem by Tom Billsborough

Osmosis by the irises of love.
What art creates your smile
What science of quick assessment
Proceeds with calm detachment
As, with feline grace, you move
Towards me and impart a touch.
My lips are parted and my sense
Departs without defence
Against your spells of magic.
What further charms will you employ
To strip me of my logic!
Your muted words caress
My ears, your breath is scented
As of meadowsweet. I am your toy
My feeble heart assented
Its rhythm in complete distress.