This is a somewhat indecent and yet curiously tender little poem ? whether to call it a love poem I don't really know...
A Song of a Young Lady to her Ancient Lover
On thy withered lips and dry,
Which like barren furrows lie,
Brooding kisses I will pour
Shall thy youthful [heat] restore
(Such kind showers in autumn fall,
And a second spring recall);
Nor from thee will ever part,
Ancient person of my heart.