You be the kiss
I’ll be the lips
You be the broccoli
I’ll be the chips.
I’ll be your sensation:
The beauty you eyed;
You be the action
Steamed, boiled or fried.
You be my razor
I’ll be your face
You be my starting gun
I’ll be your race.
I’ll give you a distance
But my wrinkles may trouble
You can set me going
And shave off my stubble.
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