Despite a lonely glaze within my chest that steady beat still drummed a pattern true and had not missed; as lonesome would behest, but pattered onward tho' it were anew.
Until the fairest gaze with hands sateen caressed and conquered in, with dainty feel that stroked, and wrought to change what peace had been to tap behind my breast her fervent zeal.
At will, and touch she spurred a thumping pulse as tho' my core were drums, and she'd out-play; a trancing mood no man could then repulse but let the beauty dance and waltz her way.
My gentled rapping churned, her grace outdone! To thwart in that was mine, till then, she'd won.