What makes me love him
It's not his singing
I've heard his singing
It sours the milk
And yet
It's gotten to the point where I prefer that kind of milk
What makes me love him
It's not his learning
He's learned so slowly
His whole life long
And though he really knows a multitude of things
They're mostly wrong
He is a good man
Yet I would love him
If he abused me
Or used me ill
And though he's handsome
I know inside me
Were he a plain man
I'd love him still
What makes me love him
It's quite beyond me
It must be something
I can't describe
Unless it's merely that he's masculine
And that he's mine

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