Love Poem #2

Does she rock her tulip bulb belly
past the events' fierce gangrene strap?
Does she, moreover, take crazy things as calmly
as marine fish, at error in an eel meant trap?

Oh, her eyes are like sweet daffodils.
Her body resembles a sappy birch.
And at her thighs soft-tousled jungles perch.
Her tiny nose was made with carving skills.

Her hands, a rosebush each.
Her kisses, dusky masses.
Her smile, her main feature to engage.

Of usufruct, she is the one to teach.
She breeds histories as time passes.
Herself, she stems from the flower age.