Oh my sweet Thermadora Panolini
How your words are wrought seemly
What great skill with which you deal me
The deck of choice, new works of Panolini.
I endowed with such mirth when to your letter
I read all twice and address all words with fetter
Thought and body entwined to your shapely figure
And this cinnamon scent would my memory trigger
Thermaodora Panolini let me wipe away your face paint
I would see the person underneath that’s gentle and quaint.
Let that which hangs to your skin, fall from its holding
Worry not about creases and your house kept folding.
Your letters and your words are passion contained
This control let it go; it can never be truly refrained.
Let me be your lancer lot, your suitor and gigolo
And dancing Thermaodora we would surely go-go.
Bruce Ruston Copyright 2004