You are a Shakespeare sonnet

At words poetic, I'm so pathetic
That I always have found it best,
Instead of getting 'em off my chest,
To let 'em rest unexpressed,
I hate parading my serenading
As I'll probably miss a bar,
But if this ditty is not so pretty
At least it'll tell you
How great you are.

(...)

Your words poetic are not pathetic.
On the other hand, babe, you shine,
And I can feel after every line
A thrill divine
Down my spine.

(...)

Porter.

"(...) was composed in Paris, according to a New Yorker writer, Margaret Case Harriman, 'during a supper at Boeuf sur le Toit when Cole and Mrs. Alistair Mackintosh entertained themselves by making up a list of superlatives that rhymed` (...)", McBrien, Cole Porter, p. 169.

O lugar está aberto... e o mote, claro, é: Quand saveurs et jazz vous font vibrer:

http://www.boeufsurletoit.com/fr/