The One Called "Love"

Her eyes are jewelry I never cared for until now
emerald facets set in summer freckled skin,
too soft to not be drawn to
her lips are like nothing else,
that is all,
her lips,
and I have been drunk off her tongue not enough times
a curve to fit the curve of me and
we are golden
lying there as puzzle pieces,
slipping into place as the right ones do
her hips are a battlefield
many battles lost fighting herself
but the war will be won
with a gentle hand that does no more harm
only pushes the hair off my face
and the pencil along paper
clicking out more lead
burning like a fever to sweat it out.