Tell me of your love.
The cool evanescence of your kiss.
The allure of your fingertips.
Baby, you're right.
I'm afraid of love.
Our first kiss could be in the rain,
under soaked and drenched stars,
and the heat between bodies pulling us close.
I would imagine you taste like the rain.
I would imagine you cool to the touch.
Maybe you could love me.
Baby, you could try.