November 12, 2015

The Yen



My love is not a beauty-bright,

Statuesque in the steaming night.

She cannot come to me, free will.

I seek her out, beyond the rill.



My love appeals to many men.

Some think her dead, most have
 the yen.

My jealousy does not exist,

For share her, yes, I must insist.



Of many parts, she is well made,

To sooth, excite and richly shade.

I separate her from the curd,

My love, a gift, the written word.

                                                                                       - Jane Marie

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