A Pessimist Is A Man Who Tells

Your Neck. I Want To Kiss It.

The Dream, Alone, Is Of Interest. What Is Life Without A Dream?

My Wit Is Sharper Then The Finest Mustache, And When I Walk Among Men I Make Truths Ring Like Spurs.

And If Kisses In These Words Could Travel Too, Madam, You'd Read This Letter With Your Lips.

A Kiss, When All Is Said, What Is It? A Rosy Dot Placed On The 'i' In Loving; Tis A Secret Told To The Mouth Instead Of To The Ear.