My Rose

Shall I compare her beauty to a rose, Her smooth petals, long stem, and luring scent, Such a verse would be so ill if I compose, And no more a wasteful time to be spent, Woven ropes of a coarse twine from her head, With lips over-glossed and sensual flesh, Caress her in the bounds of lovers bed, As two souls as one intimately mesh, Upon the threshold of wanton pleasure, I bring present adornments to her hand, Though all beauty fails before this treasure, To fade yet hers shall forever withstand, The rose won’t last; it dims in her presence Beauty is only known in her essence