It Was Poem by Shasha Zakaria

It was love,
A taste in the beak of a dove,
Flying high above the loft,
Resides with passion in the high mountain cove.

It was heart,
An impulsive force of the sensitive part,
Impetuous like the dart,
A lovely touch like the roses in the yard.

It was empathy,
Intense than a mere telepathy,
More pleasant than the sweetest patty,
Carves the widest smile of the poor fatty.

It was passion,
Cuts the unpleasant work tension,
Ignites the oomph of some sex session,
Rebuilds the lost romantic mansion.

It was these abstracts,
A rainbow that extracts
A halo that contracts,
Into a deep concrete vortex.