i always knew i tempted your desires
your hungry eyes on my fair thighs
i saw the way you looked at me
when i bent over to pick up a flower from the ground
to tuck behind my ear; my curls laughing in the wind
i was warm and gentle with a fire in my eyes and a taste for danger
you couldn't place me: whether i was a ****** or a *****
the curve of my back told you stories about hands sliding in my pants
but the freckle on my cheeks told you i'd never touched a man in my life
you weren't sure what excited you more
thinking i was a **** for free,
a school girl without a history,
or knowing that you'd never know which one i was.
i knew that the length of my neck
gave you ideas about your teeth staining the skin
that my pink parted mouth
was built for you to crawl inside it
baby girl or ***** *****
you never could decide which
only that i played out your ******-***** fantasies
untouchable, waiting for you.
innocent outside, ***** to the core.

i always knew i tempted your desires
by my mere existence and the shape of a woman
i saw the way you looked at me
but i never thought you'd pin me to the wall
while i screamed for freedom into your hand
my muffled cries tempted your desires and you couldn't help but enjoy it
when the blood ran down my thighs
your dilemma was solved
and you realized that no one had touched me
the way you had
that tempted your desires
so you did it
again
and
again
and
again
until
i no longer
bled
or
cried
the fire
in
my
eyes
died
and
you
were
no
longer
tempted
by
my
******
in-betweens
or
the
dimples
in
my cheeks.

you
walked
away
free.

If the Sacred Fire of Vesta went out, it meant one of two things:
             meant
1. Rome was in danger;
                                                  meant
2. A Vestal ******, a guardian of the flame, was having ***.  
Chastity                                      and                                       fire
are two attributes that are directly correlated.  If one is lost,
the other will follow.  Trust me.  This is fact:
                                                                ­                 only ****** women
                                                                ­                   can be celebrated.

The ****** Mary,
                                the ****** goddesses,
                                                      ­                 the way **** was seen as a crime
                                                           ­        against the father, not the daughter:
                            women
                     ­         must
                            remain
                ­              pure.  

Do not eat the pomegranate seeds,
do not touch the fruit of knowledge.  A
                                                   ­                    statue of a young boy
                                                             ­              holding an apple
                                               does not hold
                                        the same connotation
as a woman holding an apple.  Offering it to a man who
could have refused.  Getting blamed for the fall from Eden.  

                           A woman
with a snake draped around her body is not Eve,
is Lilith, but it’s close enough.  They are both to blame for
all the evils of the world, so what does it really matter anyway?  Women
are more susceptible to wavering in their faith in God,
to worshipping the devil, to practicing witchcraft—

            The flames are out.  Rome is not safe.  A “******” is buried
            alive for her sin.  Lilith is slaughtering women in childbirth.  
            Babies  are  dying.   A  man  is  celebrated  for  his  multiple
            lovers.   ****  shaming  in  79  AD.    The  beds   in   Pompeii
            brothels are made of stone.   St.  Cecilia  is  face  down in the
            dirt.   Women on the same level as slaves,  if not lower.  The
                                     goddess Vesta as a housewife.

Lay with me,
Sweet Poetry.

I prostrate myself
atop your holy temple,
amassing desperate yearning kisses
down your strong-legged pillars.

Weaving in and out of your corridors,
through the garden, your hair falling around me
like roots, like falling leaves--

But I dare not enter your hallowed chambers.

I am a ******, Sweet Poetry.

I have sauntered through the courtyard,
never the courts,
I have tread in the waters of your fountain,
never submerged in your bath,
I've danced around the holy fire,
but never touched my flesh to the healing flame.

Are the walls to your inner sanctum made of concrete,
or something impalpable?
My mind can play ***** tricks,
flagellating a million reasons why our love is for naught,
and why my body should shrivel and fade away before you.

I am a ******, Poetry,
and what love and demons I have in reserve,
I lay at your feet.

I'll linger if you'll stay,
sleeping sound at your side,
your breath on my skin,
your body warm against my shivering frame.

Pluck the maiden fruit from my aching tree,
lay with me,
Sweet Poetry.

We pay homage to pieces of paper
As sunsets carry us out
From altar to carriage
Honeymoon kisses seconds before
Our feet leave the ground
Off to Brazil, maybe China
Perhaps a little romance
In the streets of Italy
Maybe one day
Wedding bells will ring
But for now
Listen to the sounds of the birds
I always fly higher then them
When you whisper in my ears
Come here
Till holy matrimony
Your cherries wont be pick
Whoops guess I lied
Got to carried away
You got to wet
Teasing became full frontal assault
Clash of bodies
Already married without a proposal
Maybe this was just meant to be
From violent hearts
Psychotic hearts
Mailbox hearts
To offering you broken shells
All that remains of my nomad heart

His highness is searching for a bride,
She must be very beautiful and also dutiful.

He doesn't care if she's not educate,
He just cares that she be able to *******.

He doesn't want to have a lady with brains,
He just wants a woman to hug in the rains..

He wants a first hand girl, that is a ******,
So that she doesn't complain, to merge in..

Not debate, and follow all his orders without hate.
And to accept such a wife, he needs dowry as bait!

He is gonna be king, an official ideal candidate for a bride,
Who wants to have a lady, 'her' tears who could hide

Between these sheets of satin love
Violence breaks cherries
Serenity found in screams and moans
Yeah babe this is a *** poem
About how I'm going to take from you
The last of your innocence
As you put my demonic instincts on a leash
There will be blood
As if Jack the Ripper
Found his way between your legs
The pierced silence quivers as lips curve back
Hiding under your teeth
Moans rupture as hair gets pulled
*** cheeks spanked leaving clues
As to whom it was that made you a ******
Begging, pleading, praying for more
As the width of my **** grows
Pushing harder onto your ***** walls
The gravity defying length of its throbbing prowess
Plunging ten thousand leagues into your soul
The violent serenity of our *** life
Becomes a perfect portrait
We paint every night with the stains
Our love produces onto bed spreads
Needing to be burned after such defilement

Dear Mary, Queen of Heaven above,
Please bless us with the peace of doves.
You showed us the meaning of true love,
Your beauty is like none before,
Bless us now, as in times of yore,
Your soul shines through your smiling eyes,
Bless us all from Heaven's skies,
Please bless us with the peace of doves,
Showing us the meaning of true love.

                                              AMEN
                                              Planet Earth.