My Romantic Poetry

A Thing Of Beauty


She is a thing of


Softened grains,

Pearl clamped

In a scaled shell.


Poet’s muse is

Her only.


Tightly wound

A glimmering thorn.


Envy’s follicles

Never escaping



Mirror drop of

Soft petal sheath,

In awe of

Grace as she is



Sweet surrender

Of rains,

Heaven’s gaze adrift

And never in search

Of Envy.


Peeking out at serenity

Streaming in,

So delicate,

A rare particle,

As soft as a maiden’s gaze

On her lover.


Sweet, never too succulent,

Always closing in

On Beauty.

3 thoughts on “My Romantic Poetry

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