My Rose
Shall I compare her beauty to a rose,
Her smooth petals, long stem, and luring scent,
Such a verse would be so ill if I compose,
And no more a wasteful time to be spent,
Woven ropes of a coarse twine from her head,
With lips over-glossed and sensual flesh,
Caress her in the bounds of lovers bed,
As two souls as one intimately mesh,
Upon the threshold of wanton pleasure,
I bring present adornments to her hand,
Though all beauty fails before this treasure,
To fade yet hers shall forever withstand,
The rose won’t last; it dims in her presence
Beauty is only known in her essence
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