Look at me and smile,
then smile again some more,
your smile it has a style,
I couldn’t show the door.

Its presence has no pretence,
so authentic, genuine,
if it is fake and wicked,
let it fill me deep with sin.

Delightful, irresistible,
a sensory refreshment,
impossibly unlovable,
undeniably, oh so pleasant.

If I only knew your secret,
the way you smile, the way you do,
then you could feel the same as me,
each time I smiled at you.