Her Name Was Chamomile
Her name was Chamomile.....
she filled my heart ablaze,
one lazy-October day,
batting those eyes ---
such guile!
A poor, romantic little thing,
hopeless to begging love,
sick with gorgeous news ---
her hero (would he flew)
'ere her aching heart,
explode a thousand pleas
for her sensuous sylph-self
The men were dogs for her,
back in the day;
her hair smelled of Chamomile....
her eyes teased with Chamomile....
her lips, red and wanting,
her crimson-spiced kiss....
But she be only mine,
as she oozed down my throat....
Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2014
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