(kevin grantt/lesile winn satcher)
Arms, strong as timbers
folding around her like velvet
that's the fine art, of holding a woman
eyes, that never leave hers
fingertips that whisper
that's the fine art, of holding a woman
Without reason, you kiss her, just to breathe her
without words, you tell her, that you need her
when you part, you always leave a fire burning
that's the fine art, of holding a woman
that's the fine art, of holding a woman
And only moments after loving her
she can see that you still want her
that's the fine art, of holding a woman
Without reason, you kiss her, just to breathe her
without words, you tell her, that you need her
when you part, you always leave a fire burning
that's the fine art, of holding a woman
that's the fine art, of holding a woman
That's the fine art, of holding a woman