Modesty….

What could be in those eyes?
Mascara of a golden dream?
And the mascara is diffused with
Saplings of love, unseen by anyone else.
What is encrypted in the heart?
It is butter, and flame on the wick
Immersed in that butter of affection,
And cascaded over the chest
By the exquisite delicate hands.
What is gleaming on the cheeks?
Crimson ruddiness when it was pinched;
Anticipating the return of her lover
Turned into a hue, of the springtime vineyard.