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