A tart of the heart, through and through,
I am so happy and full of energy,
I walk life's road and tears unload,
But I am sweeter than you could ever know,
I am a plum tart and full of heart,
I am sunnyside up and lovable.
Just give me a call and I'm with you,
Talk to me on the phone and I'll satisfy you,
Because I am full of heart,
And it is rewarding being a tart,
Because I only owe myself loyalties,
I only need to get out of bed for me.
I am sweet like a princess,
I am as beautiful as a fashion model,
I don't have blonde hair,
But do have hair as beautiful,
As a cascading waterfall,
But in your arms, I won't fall,
Yet I stand proud and tall,
Living the city nightlife,
The countryside not really me.
I am not too blind to see your games,
Because everyone knows my name for a reason,
I am not struck down with an arrow of the heart,
I do not commit treason,
I just ride with the changing seasons.
I apply my colourful and glamorous lipstick,
Changing from innocent looking,
To wild, living-it-up vampire,
And I hope you enjoy tonight,
Because I don't hold back, although I can pretend to,
Because this is not an innocent child,
You are talking to.
Just bring yourself: I'll order the wine,
And on this night, I will be wicked yet divine,
As you light the candles and move closer,
Serving me a plum tart: or am I serving myself?
And I stare above at the walls,
Scattered with works of art,
A talent you have so rare,
And it is hard not to stare.
Tonight I will concentrate on your desires,
My dress a sorry state, but after dessert,
I shall clear the plates and let you kiss me,
My red lipstick a smear on your cheek,
And we always ride those violent storms.
I shall leave you soothed and relaxed,
Just living your life and I am your dessert,
The plum tart that I am,
Because I feed your desires like water from a dam,
And, being full of heart, I shall let you have a discount,
And be your fantasy, a woman of the night,
And let all your dreams come true.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem