my love is not a diamond
as some old poets
might suggest
no sharp edges upon which
I might cut myself
nor is she a nugget gold
so Grand all men lust
after her
precious and yet not
as appealing
as I might achieve
my love is a pearl
her skin so smooth
her touch so cool
easy to take under my tongue
to revel on her
to digest her
as if I am the oyster
that gave her birth
my fingers stroking her
polishing her
feeling her curved flesh
as vivid in my brain
as if I could see her blind
more precious than all
the precious stones
and all I could ever want
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