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I can only tell you: "The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of." - Blaise Pascal

Ma Chère Rose

If I was to read for you, My Dear Rose.
A poem of beauty, as only few words could show.
Like Picasso as a writer, let me paint your body.
A whisper of grace and elegance, without noise of gaudy.

See her breast cupped; stretch the stitches of her blouse.
As if swollen with milk, my flame only her water could douse.
Lingers of secluded comfort, like a forest cottage house.
My fingers warm between her soft cleavage, like a hiding mouse.

Her nipples harden from my whispers in the air.
As her body heats up, her sweat gives off a scent so rare.
Undress her body, sounds of her clothes as they tear.
Like electric musical notes, rise from her body like hair.
No other woman has ever had a skin so fair.
Like a roses petals, no other flower could compare.
Taunting Eden's apple, as if to rival a pear.

See her sway her thighs and hips.
Like a rose in the wind, petals swell from the tips.
Softest leather feel, back arched like a crack from the whip.
Tall smooth legs, like a mast of a ship.
And the rain on her sails, taste of honey to lips.

Your arms like shields, rose's petal points lifted.
Touch of your fingers, ten angel pianists, heavenly gifted.
Easily make a man's emotions feel shifted.
Dancing in the mind of every dream he has drifted.

Those smooth long legs spread like the wings of a flyer.
Inner thighs speak a truth that would mute a liar.
And drip sweet smelling nectar that excites a man's desires.
Like an addictive drug, that makes him only want to get higher.

Her smooth bottled neck, over her soft shoulders
Holds a face of beauty, eyed in all beholders.
A rose lost in the forest, graceful, triumphant, and wild.
Enchanted mystic youth, pretty, majestic, like a fairy's child.

Beautiful arms even Hercules could not grace.
Like two pythons, leave a man breathless in embrace.
And the pressure they do impart,
Have the power to forever imprison your lover in your heart.

I could never forget her sweet smelling perfumed hair.
Blowing in the air as if God's winds, were trying to stare.
Her eyes which contact made you frozen,
Put you in a spell that made you swear that you were chosen.
Trapped in fleeting notions,
Her lips tasting of Love's potions.

If I was to read for you, My Dear Rose.
A poem of beauty, as only few words could show.
Like Picasso as a writer, let me paint your body.
A whisper of grace and elegance, without noise of gaudy.

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Votes: 34

Published: 7/28/2011

Rating: 4.26


We two form a multitude

- Ovid

Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.

- Aristotle