Art of a Lady - sonnet

The Art of a Lady (sonnet) Warm hands stroke clustered troubles from the furrow of my brow That have accumulated since I wandered from your reach This day has hung so heavily, a burden until now Do not waste precious moments on the questions, I beseech Just let your mind stay focussed as your sweet massage ensues While I considered how to pleasure you in all good time What delicacies offered, by this hand, could you refuse? And yet I seek some perfect way to make your senses climb No mundane gift will recompense the solace that you bring Nor shall I try some clever ploy, avoiding duty's call By your embrace your tender touch, the sweet words that you sing You do inspire a sensual fire no worry could forestall Love, lift me up into your arms and carry me to bed "This is my gift to you," I grin. You smile and shake your head