Eternal unrest, by her beauty I am blessed.

By her avoidance I am stressed, surly it’s apparent I am under duress.

I reach as far as my arms can stretch, it’s not far enough to grip the skirts of her dress. And pull her towards me, rendering her under my arrest.

I try to grasp her attention with words. the only words that grab her attention are verbs, as they say actions speak louder than words, than I’ll do what I’ll have to in other words.

By my plight she is blighted, my love I have slighted.
By words I have sighted she still burns for me.

I can’t earn her need.
Yet I yearn so deep.
To cross a woman, finishing hell hath no fury... there’s  no need.

It’s true in hindsight, to reverse these things is my blight.
Whilst challenge to overcome it all, is my fight.

Something that’s tangible should be easily manageable.
My heart is tangible, so I’ll give it to you.
I’ll give it to you and watch what you do, as my fingers turn cold and blue.
I’ll idle near by, please don’t you cry, if you give me yours you can idle too.

So tell me when
my precious hen, as I protect you from foxes attempting to enter your den.
When will you ever so sweet, bless me with an egg I can keep?
One to hatch, and to raise. One to scold and to praise?
So tell me, I whisper through my teeth, when will it be you that I can keep.

Is it dark?
I often thought.
To tie her to my bed.

Or is it sweet, to kiss her Deep as I strap down her legs.

Is it cruel to make her drool, as my hands clasp her neck.

Or is it fair, so say I dare because, she loves when I take her there.

Empty are the now shallow depths of once we thought deep.

Night is ever Lonely, as depression steadily creeps.

In our once lust filled sheets, blood begins to seep.

As long as my heart still beats, the blood will continue to leak.

She is my weakness,
symbolizing everything I need.

My life, my love,
thoughts of her makes me weak indeed.

Moving on an intrepid woman in all this space.

I stare out a window thinking of the past, so much time I waist.

Longing for the days I’d grab her by the waist, savoring her taste.

A time that’s moved on long ago, posthaste.