Red Are My Wanted Lover’s Lips

What is in the structure of her lips,

That allows for such a delicate form?

Cupid’s bow never did so gently bend,

Nor blush as red

As did my lover’s lips.

What rare mineral

Allows for color

That makes the cherry shrink

And the fall rose wither

In hot jealousy?

And oh, what must I do

To exact from them

Those love-tipped arrows?

Those words that will strike my heart

And fill its hunger

For love and company?

Instead of the poisoned dart

That always flies from those lips

Whenever I am near

Commanding the worst of me.