Love

Her eyes never blinked, nor pressed, nor squeezed
whether the rhythmic progression was smooth or ruffled
unlike a young maiden, she pretended not but shuffled,
neither did she carry a smile so sweet
nor did she laugh or moan or plead.
A rosy fragrance she possessed to lure the lover of her night,
each disclosed the prude, delicately untying her gite
but she was natural to gestures so soft
be it roses or rocks
or a gift more elite.
Oh! love
love wasn't what she need.