She opened like a flower,
Soft, moist,
Glistening in candle light,
Scented
Delicate, like sea spray, or
Mornings
In the garden, with roses,
Dewdrops
On their delicate petals,
Petals,
Filled with anticipation
Of love.
Oh, love,
Let me never drink a wine
Sweeter
Than that, now upon my tongue,
Or hold
A prize, greater than that in
My arms,
Or know more joy, than to have
My lips,
Gently kissing this flower.