I’d turn the knob but look
there is no latch!
There’s only swinging
hinges on their door
With baskets, deep and gold
may be the catch.
No accusations that
they’re quite a… “bore?”
But not a fair
analogy
for she.
Yes, down she looks,
From up, her towers, tall.
Athletic gestures,
jousting to the top
I’ll climb her love
which stands firm as a wall
With perfect time,
no motioning to stop.
the fragrance writer 