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.