#ourn-bedchamber
i.
Grooving cricket's
Mardi gras the copse;
A bedchamber shut
The door's art locked.
ii.
The luster of the moon
Sparkle's her face;
Locking I tightly with her finger's
Her body with mine in place.
iii.
Wall's bodacious, to match her flavor
Raiment she weareth, I sketch on poetry paper;
Though I'm no artist, only a writer
Her look's art an eyeful, I've become her virtuoso, her guider.
iv.
As tis, she's mine muse
Thrice I hadst held her;
She's mine only residence
I seeketh none other shelter.
v.
I shalt die in her arm's
And awake in her psyche;
Because tis I do knoweth
She's where everything's right.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane nagley dedication
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 7:21 PM UTC