There is a woman, her name is anonymous, she's strong and has an understanding of the ominous. She lives in a house with an infinite view on top of mount Olympus where she grew up battling Ares and learned that life doesn't have to be so serious. Kissing a poem like her is why I'm wishful, to feel the silk underneath her clothes is what keeps my chest slow and blissful. As a poet I'll call her Athena, the one who's anger can devour the flesh of anyone who enters her arena, a goddess in her own right, she even has three golden apples from Eris, sitting atop a bowl of emeralds in her eye, its quite the sight, when I look into them I feel like I'm going to lose all control and fall to her every whim so I must fight, fight until she stays with me another night.