Sometimes his love was a song,
a tender melody
Whenever I would close my eyes
it would play for me

Other times it was a painting,
with colors pure and bright
Whenever I would see it,
my heart would take flight

It was also a dance
with a pulsating beat
A slow, steady rhythm
full of passion and heat

Although he is gone now
I still think of his love as a work of art
and it will stay forever
right here in my heart