She Wasn’t Pretty

She wasn’t pretty or beautiful,
the first girl I fell in love with.
She was unique
I guess you could say.

Her nose would blush in the cold,
in fact, it would blush when she was embarrassed too.
A mention of sex or alcohol and
her nose would turn crimson.

She kept her neck and chest hidden;
her figure was for her eyes only,
hers and God’s, that is.
I longed to undress her,
not so I could fornicate,
just so I could admire what it was that she kept hidden away.

I wonder if she ever married,
drank or painted her face with makeup?
She wasn’t pretty or beautiful,
I suppose she’s a spinster.

It’s funny now to think I loved someone
who was so conservative
when I was a young girl.