My love is like a treasure chest.
It longs to give you what is best.
It wants you ruffling through its drawers,
claiming what you find as yours.
It wants you polishing its knob
on bended knee before you rob
it of its contents. Holy fire!
Your every wish is its desire.
Your casual need will always bring
it much delight. A noble thing,
it stands there, blatantly erect,
and hopes one day you will detect
its grand devotion to your charms.
Perhaps you could throw both your arms
around its sides and plant a kiss
on its high brow? That would be bliss.
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