Amoral Are the Fair
So isolated and alone, my sweet rose.
Stranded by the brier that stung in their throes.
Soft fragrance wafts seducingly to men,
yet none can touch my petaled friend.
So ethereal, so elegant, my enchanting bloom.
You who pervades the earthly sense.
Beguiling creatures with blossomed view.
Swaying, invitingly, with sensuous moves.
No doubt you are sin, my amorous flower.
Eluding hands of taint and tinge.
Yet, you are the most immoral kin.
Hiding behind tender veneer
lay nefarious intentions deep within.
Share This Poem