Conjugal Voyage Poem by Stephen Omolori

Pretty, yet your head doesn't swell like a bread
Mixed with leaven each time that I tell you,
Like I'm telling you now, that your beauty is true.
Dress in black, blue, yellow, orange or red,
Your beauty stands out like the crown on the head
Of a king who is taller than Goliath and his crew.
Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder— wise men knew,
But yours stays alive, even where sight is dead.

When I look at you, I see why Paris fled
From King Menelaus, fleeing with Helen, too:
It's because the beauty of some women tear to shred
The armor of loneliness of a timid thoroughbred.
No matter what our naysayers may spew,
Sailing on the conjugal sea shouldn't be what we dread.