#paramour - Hello Poetry

Wasp addendum More than out of and Quote the finality, well to avoid... A sting that churched a brassy man Wasp substantial Adding the heed, of couth and comparison Does a reach for time, understand arousal? Quiet time searching for youth, that knows the question... Wasp divine Kiss and kindred, the tools of solemn tone? Enchastened with a host, too cursory to be orders vision We hear the spoil of the wind, become a new loan Wasp merciful Craving a thought, to tell a tale kept By the unity we foresaw, a heard bliss still... Was a chance meeting with a yearning fate, bereft? Wasp earthen Where souls intertwine, the taste of home Is a careful wish, foreseen in the earning? Or should might, take the time to intend guidance as done? Wasp witnesses The tow of commonness, in the voice of salutations Memory served, the break of justice in a winds shade Here to fore, timidity is a challenge, for a truer intuition...

0

May 9, 2023

May 9, 2023 at 9:29 PM UTC

david-hilburn

Marvel With Speed, And Patiences Will Come...

Wasp addendum More than out of and Quote the finality, well to avoid... A sting that churched a brassy man Wasp substantial Adding the heed, of couth and comparison Does a reach for time, understand arousal? Quiet time searching for youth, that knows the question... Wasp divine Kiss and kindred, the tools of solemn tone? Enchastened with a host, too cursory to be orders vision We hear the spoil of the wind, become a new loan Wasp merciful Craving a thought, to tell a tale kept By the unity we foresaw, a heard bliss still... Was a chance meeting with a yearning fate, bereft? Wasp earthen Where souls intertwine, the taste of home Is a careful wish, foreseen in the earning? Or should might, take the time to intend guidance as done? Wasp witnesses The tow of commonness, in the voice of salutations Memory served, the break of justice in a winds shade Here to fore, timidity is a challenge, for a truer intuition...

24

These are poems about Ann Rutledge and her romantic relationship with Abraham Lincoln. Winter Thoughts of Ann Rutledge by Michael R. Burch Winter was not easy, nor would the spring return. I knew you by your absence, as men are wont to burn with strange indwelling fire — such longings you inspire! But winter was not easy, nor would the sun relent from sculpting ****** images and how could I repent? I left quaint offerings in the snow, more maiden than I care to know. Ann Rutledge’s Irregular Quilt by Michael R. Burch based on “Lincoln the Unknown” by Dale Carnegie I. Her fingers “plied the needle” with “unusual swiftness and art” till Abe knelt down beside her: then her demoralized heart set Eros’s dart a-quiver; thus a crazy quilt emerged: strange stitches all a-kilter, all patterns lost. (Her host kept her vicarious laughter barely submerged.) II. Years later she’d show off the quilt with its uncertain stitches as evidence love undermines men’s plans and women’s strictures (and a plethora of scriptures.) III. But O the sacred tenderness Ann’s reckless stitch contains and all the world’s felicities: rich cloth, for love’s fine gains, for sweethearts’ tremulous fingers and their bright, uncertain vows and all love’s blithe, erratic hopes (like now’s). IV. Years later on a pilgrimage, by tenderness obsessed, Dale Carnegie, drawn to her grave, found weeds in her place of rest and mowed them back, revealing the spot of the Railsplitter’s joy and grief (and his hope and his disbelief). V. For such is the tenderness of love, and such are its disappointments. Love is a book of rhapsodic poems. Love is an grab bag of ointments. Love is the finger poised, the smile, the Question — perhaps the Answer? Love is the pain of betrayal, the two left feet of the dancer. VI. There were ladies of ill repute in his past. Or so he thought. Was it true? And yet he loved them, Ann (sweet Ann!), as tenderly as he loved you. Ann Rutledge was Abraham Lincoln’s first love interest. Unfortunately, she was engaged to another man when they met, then died with typhoid fever at age 22. According to a friend, Isaac Cogdal, when asked if he had loved her, Lincoln replied: “It is true—true indeed I did. I loved the woman dearly and soundly: She was a handsome girl—would have made a good, loving wife… I did honestly and truly love the girl and think often, often of her now.” Ann Rutledge’s grave marker in Petersburg, Illinois, contains a poem written by Edgar Lee Masters in which she is “Beloved of Abraham Lincoln, / Wedded to him, not through union, / But through separation.” Ann Rutledge’s original grave at Old Concord, once neglected, has a fairly new marker provided by her family. One side of the maker, along with her name and dates, reads: “Where Lincoln Wept.” An account popularized by William Herndon in his biography is that Lincoln was so distraught by Ann’s death that he knelt and wept at her grave. On the reverse side of the marker is carved “I cannot bear to think of her out there alone in the storm. A. Lincoln.” Herndon was Lincoln’s law partner and a friend. He also attended poetry readings with Lincoln, who wrote poems himself. Lincoln called Herndon "my man always above all other men on the globe." Following Lincoln's assassination, Herndon began collecting accounts of Lincoln's life from people who knew him. Herndon wanted to write a faithful portrait of his friend, based on the hundreds of letters and interviews he had compiled, plus his own recollections. He was determined to present Lincoln as the man he actually was, not as a romanticized national hero and saint, and this meant revealing things other biographers would omit or elide, due to the puritanical conventions of that day. Such details included Lincoln’s suicidal depression and his contentious relationship with his wife, Mary Todd Lincoln. And Herndon maintained that Ann Rutledge was Lincoln’s only true love. Keywords/Tags: Ann Rutledge, Abraham Lincoln, poem, poems, poetry, love, lover, mistress, paramour, romance, romantic, quilt, grave, Dale Carnegie, William Herndon

0

Oct 25, 2020

Oct 25, 2020 at 10:42 PM UTC

michael-r-burch

Winter Thoughts of Ann Rutledge

These are poems about Ann Rutledge and her romantic relationship with Abraham Lincoln. Winter Thoughts of Ann Rutledge by Michael R. Burch Winter was not easy, nor would the spring return. I knew you by your absence, as men are wont to burn with strange indwelling fire — such longings you inspire! But winter was not easy, nor would the sun relent from sculpting ****** images and how could I repent? I left quaint offerings in the snow, more maiden than I care to know. Ann Rutledge’s Irregular Quilt by Michael R. Burch based on “Lincoln the Unknown” by Dale Carnegie I. Her fingers “plied the needle” with “unusual swiftness and art” till Abe knelt down beside her: then her demoralized heart set Eros’s dart a-quiver; thus a crazy quilt emerged: strange stitches all a-kilter, all patterns lost. (Her host kept her vicarious laughter barely submerged.) II. Years later she’d show off the quilt with its uncertain stitches as evidence love undermines men’s plans and women’s strictures (and a plethora of scriptures.) III. But O the sacred tenderness Ann’s reckless stitch contains and all the world’s felicities: rich cloth, for love’s fine gains, for sweethearts’ tremulous fingers and their bright, uncertain vows and all love’s blithe, erratic hopes (like now’s). IV. Years later on a pilgrimage, by tenderness obsessed, Dale Carnegie, drawn to her grave, found weeds in her place of rest and mowed them back, revealing the spot of the Railsplitter’s joy and grief (and his hope and his disbelief). V. For such is the tenderness of love, and such are its disappointments. Love is a book of rhapsodic poems. Love is an grab bag of ointments. Love is the finger poised, the smile, the Question — perhaps the Answer? Love is the pain of betrayal, the two left feet of the dancer. VI. There were ladies of ill repute in his past. Or so he thought. Was it true? And yet he loved them, Ann (sweet Ann!), as tenderly as he loved you. Ann Rutledge was Abraham Lincoln’s first love interest. Unfortunately, she was engaged to another man when they met, then died with typhoid fever at age 22. According to a friend, Isaac Cogdal, when asked if he had loved her, Lincoln replied: “It is true—true indeed I did. I loved the woman dearly and soundly: She was a handsome girl—would have made a good, loving wife… I did honestly and truly love the girl and think often, often of her now.” Ann Rutledge’s grave marker in Petersburg, Illinois, contains a poem written by Edgar Lee Masters in which she is “Beloved of Abraham Lincoln, / Wedded to him, not through union, / But through separation.” Ann Rutledge’s original grave at Old Concord, once neglected, has a fairly new marker provided by her family. One side of the maker, along with her name and dates, reads: “Where Lincoln Wept.” An account popularized by William Herndon in his biography is that Lincoln was so distraught by Ann’s death that he knelt and wept at her grave. On the reverse side of the marker is carved “I cannot bear to think of her out there alone in the storm. A. Lincoln.” Herndon was Lincoln’s law partner and a friend. He also attended poetry readings with Lincoln, who wrote poems himself. Lincoln called Herndon "my man always above all other men on the globe." Following Lincoln's assassination, Herndon began collecting accounts of Lincoln's life from people who knew him. Herndon wanted to write a faithful portrait of his friend, based on the hundreds of letters and interviews he had compiled, plus his own recollections. He was determined to present Lincoln as the man he actually was, not as a romanticized national hero and saint, and this meant revealing things other biographers would omit or elide, due to the puritanical conventions of that day. Such details included Lincoln’s suicidal depression and his contentious relationship with his wife, Mary Todd Lincoln. And Herndon maintained that Ann Rutledge was Lincoln’s only true love. Keywords/Tags: Ann Rutledge, Abraham Lincoln, poem, poems, poetry, love, lover, mistress, paramour, romance, romantic, quilt, grave, Dale Carnegie, William Herndon

52

Le Balcon (“The Balcony”) by Charles Baudelaire loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Paramour of memory, ultimate mistress, source of all pleasure, my only desire; how can I forget your ecstatic caresses, the warmth of your ******* by the roaring fire, paramour of memory, ultimate mistress? Each night illumined by the burning coals we lay together where the rose-fragrance clings— how soft your ******* how tender your soul! Ah, and we said imperishable things, each night illumined by the burning coals. How beautiful the sunsets these sultry days, deep space so profound, beyond life’s brief floods ... then, when I kissed you, my queen, in a daze, I thought I breathed the bright bouquet of your blood as beautiful as sunsets these sultry days. Night thickens around us like a wall; in the deepening darkness our irises meet. I drink your breath, ah! poisonous yet sweet!, as with fraternal hands I massage your feet while night thickens around us like a wall. I have mastered the sweet but difficult art of happiness here, with my head in your lap, finding pure joy in your body, your heart; because you’re the queen of my present and past I have mastered love’s sweet but difficult art. O vows! O perfumes! O infinite kisses! Can these be reborn from a gulf we can’t sound as suns reappear, as if heaven misses their light when they sink into seas dark, profound? O vows! O perfumes! O infinite kisses! Invitation to the Voyage by Charles Baudelaire loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My child, my sister, Consider the rapture Of living together! To love at our leisure Till the end of all pleasure, Then in climes so alike you, to die! The misty sunlight Of these hazy skies Charms my spirit: So mysterious Your treacherous eyes, Shining through tears. There, order and restraint redress Opulence, voluptuousness. Gleaming furniture Burnished by the years Would decorate our bedroom Where the rarest flowers Mingle their fragrances With vague scents of amber. The sumptuous ceilings, The limpid mirrors, The Oriental ornaments … Everything would speak To our secretive souls In their own indigenous language. There, order and restraint redress Opulence, voluptuousness. See, rocking on these channels: The sleepy vessels Whose vagabond dream Is to satisfy Your merest desire. They come from the ends of the world: These radiant suns Illuminating fields, Canals, the entire city, In hyacinth and gold. The world falls asleep In their warming light. There, order and restraint redress Opulence, voluptuousness. The Perfect Courtesan by Michael R. Burch after Baudelaire, for the courtesans She received me into her cavities, indulging my darkest depravities with such trembling longing, I felt her need ... Such was the dalliance to which we agreed— she, my high rider; I, her wild steed. She surrendered her all and revealed to me— the willing handmaiden, delighted to please, the Perfect Courtesan of Ecstasy. Les Bijoux (The Jewels) by Charles Baudelaire loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My lover **** and knowing my heart's whims Wore nothing more than a few bright-flashing gems; Her art was saving men despite their sins— She ruled like harem girls crowned with diadems! She danced for me with a gay but mocking air, My world of stone and metal sparking bright; I discovered in her the rapture of everything fair— Nay, an excess of joy where the spirit and flesh unite! Naked she lay and offered herself to me, Parting her legs and smiling receptively, As gentle and yet profound as the rising sea— Till her surging tide encountered my cliff, abruptly. A tigress tamed, her eyes met mine, intent... Intent on lust, content to purr and please! Her breath, both languid and lascivious, lent An odd charm to her metamorphoses. Her limbs, her ***** her abdomen, her thighs, Oiled alabaster, sinuous as a swan, Writhed pale before my calm clairvoyant eyes; Like clustered grapes her ******* and belly shone. Skilled in more spells than evil imps can muster, To break the peace which had possessed my heart, She flashed her crystal rocks’ hypnotic luster Till my quietude was shattered, blown apart. Her waist awrithe, her ******* enormously Out-thrust, and yet... and yet, somehow, still coy... As if stout haunches of Antiope Had been grafted to a boy... The room grew dark, the lamp had flickered out. Mute firelight, alone, lit each glowing stud; Each time the fire sighed, as if in doubt, It steeped her pale, rouged flesh in pools of blood. Duellem (The Duel) by Charles Baudelaire loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Two combatants charged! Their fearsome swords brightened the air with fiery sparks and blood. Their clashing blades clinked odd serenades, reminding us: youth's inspired by overloud love. But now their blades lie broken, like our hearts! Still, our savage teeth and talon-like fingernails can do more damage than the deadliest sword when lovers lash about with such natural flails. In a deep ravine haunted by lynxes and panthers, our heroes roll around in a cozy embrace, leaving their blood to redden the colorless branches. This abyss is pure hell; our friends occupy the place. Come, let us roll likewise here, cruel Amazon, let our hatred's ardor NEVER be over and done! Keywords/Tags: Baudelaire, translation, French, balcony, paramour, memory, mistress, desire, caresses, fire, coals, rose, ******* night, breath, feet, lap, body, heart, vows, perfumes, kisses, gulf, suns, heaven, light, seas

0

Mar 31, 2020

Mar 31, 2020 at 6:29 AM UTC

michael-r-burch

Charles Baudelaire "Le Balcon" translation

Le Balcon (“The Balcony”) by Charles Baudelaire loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Paramour of memory, ultimate mistress, source of all pleasure, my only desire; how can I forget your ecstatic caresses, the warmth of your ******* by the roaring fire, paramour of memory, ultimate mistress? Each night illumined by the burning coals we lay together where the rose-fragrance clings— how soft your ******* how tender your soul! Ah, and we said imperishable things, each night illumined by the burning coals. How beautiful the sunsets these sultry days, deep space so profound, beyond life’s brief floods ... then, when I kissed you, my queen, in a daze, I thought I breathed the bright bouquet of your blood as beautiful as sunsets these sultry days. Night thickens around us like a wall; in the deepening darkness our irises meet. I drink your breath, ah! poisonous yet sweet!, as with fraternal hands I massage your feet while night thickens around us like a wall. I have mastered the sweet but difficult art of happiness here, with my head in your lap, finding pure joy in your body, your heart; because you’re the queen of my present and past I have mastered love’s sweet but difficult art. O vows! O perfumes! O infinite kisses! Can these be reborn from a gulf we can’t sound as suns reappear, as if heaven misses their light when they sink into seas dark, profound? O vows! O perfumes! O infinite kisses! Invitation to the Voyage by Charles Baudelaire loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My child, my sister, Consider the rapture Of living together! To love at our leisure Till the end of all pleasure, Then in climes so alike you, to die! The misty sunlight Of these hazy skies Charms my spirit: So mysterious Your treacherous eyes, Shining through tears. There, order and restraint redress Opulence, voluptuousness. Gleaming furniture Burnished by the years Would decorate our bedroom Where the rarest flowers Mingle their fragrances With vague scents of amber. The sumptuous ceilings, The limpid mirrors, The Oriental ornaments … Everything would speak To our secretive souls In their own indigenous language. There, order and restraint redress Opulence, voluptuousness. See, rocking on these channels: The sleepy vessels Whose vagabond dream Is to satisfy Your merest desire. They come from the ends of the world: These radiant suns Illuminating fields, Canals, the entire city, In hyacinth and gold. The world falls asleep In their warming light. There, order and restraint redress Opulence, voluptuousness. The Perfect Courtesan by Michael R. Burch after Baudelaire, for the courtesans She received me into her cavities, indulging my darkest depravities with such trembling longing, I felt her need ... Such was the dalliance to which we agreed— she, my high rider; I, her wild steed. She surrendered her all and revealed to me— the willing handmaiden, delighted to please, the Perfect Courtesan of Ecstasy. Les Bijoux (The Jewels) by Charles Baudelaire loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My lover **** and knowing my heart's whims Wore nothing more than a few bright-flashing gems; Her art was saving men despite their sins— She ruled like harem girls crowned with diadems! She danced for me with a gay but mocking air, My world of stone and metal sparking bright; I discovered in her the rapture of everything fair— Nay, an excess of joy where the spirit and flesh unite! Naked she lay and offered herself to me, Parting her legs and smiling receptively, As gentle and yet profound as the rising sea— Till her surging tide encountered my cliff, abruptly. A tigress tamed, her eyes met mine, intent... Intent on lust, content to purr and please! Her breath, both languid and lascivious, lent An odd charm to her metamorphoses. Her limbs, her ***** her abdomen, her thighs, Oiled alabaster, sinuous as a swan, Writhed pale before my calm clairvoyant eyes; Like clustered grapes her ******* and belly shone. Skilled in more spells than evil imps can muster, To break the peace which had possessed my heart, She flashed her crystal rocks’ hypnotic luster Till my quietude was shattered, blown apart. Her waist awrithe, her ******* enormously Out-thrust, and yet... and yet, somehow, still coy... As if stout haunches of Antiope Had been grafted to a boy... The room grew dark, the lamp had flickered out. Mute firelight, alone, lit each glowing stud; Each time the fire sighed, as if in doubt, It steeped her pale, rouged flesh in pools of blood. Duellem (The Duel) by Charles Baudelaire loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Two combatants charged! Their fearsome swords brightened the air with fiery sparks and blood. Their clashing blades clinked odd serenades, reminding us: youth's inspired by overloud love. But now their blades lie broken, like our hearts! Still, our savage teeth and talon-like fingernails can do more damage than the deadliest sword when lovers lash about with such natural flails. In a deep ravine haunted by lynxes and panthers, our heroes roll around in a cozy embrace, leaving their blood to redden the colorless branches. This abyss is pure hell; our friends occupy the place. Come, let us roll likewise here, cruel Amazon, let our hatred's ardor NEVER be over and done! Keywords/Tags: Baudelaire, translation, French, balcony, paramour, memory, mistress, desire, caresses, fire, coals, rose, ******* night, breath, feet, lap, body, heart, vows, perfumes, kisses, gulf, suns, heaven, light, seas

143

The sweet cadence of your voice lulls me to sleep like a gentle lullaby.

0

Jan 1, 2020

Jan 1, 2020 at 10:05 PM UTC

sophiamarierose

Lullaby

The sweet cadence of your voice lulls me to sleep like a gentle lullaby.

1

Darling, dearest, Come out of the dark, And into my heart The sun has set, The crowds are gone, No longer I ought to pretend That you’re only just a friend

0

Mar 22, 2017

Mar 22, 2017 at 9:34 PM UTC

imperfect-visage

Evening Rose

Darling, dearest, Come out of the dark, And into my heart The sun has set, The crowds are gone, No longer I ought to pretend That you’re only just a friend

7

It's like my heart can't contain you. It's like I've let go of what was needed to let go of to let you in. And it's beyond my expectations like slipping my feet into the beach and finding my toes underneath soft, warm sand warmed by the sun. And for so long I've denied myself happiness. And for so long I've forced this picture that what I want is better than what I truly need. And I'm trying to understand why I had to give up one failed romantic relationship in order to find another that is a hundred times better. I realized that I had fallen in love with my own poetry I'd fallen in love with myself again and again and again never truly allowing myself to fall in love with anyone in reality because my fantasies were so much better. And then I met you the beach, the sand, the cold lip of water lapping against my ankles the submersion of water, salt, seaweed, and foam your warm hand in my own fingers latching the beautiful sunrise softly, strongly touching a horizon stretching so many miles away but in one swift look I saw balance. I saw joy. I saw the colors I've always loved and hoped to see one day. It's like my heart can't contain you. And the ocean is calling me home. That giant expanse of glistening water reflecting the sun's willful welcome as a new day begins so daunting so beautiful so overwhelming in its stark grandness so familiar this feeling. It's like I've known you for a very long time. It's like I've found myself smiling with the waves now pressing against my gut white sea foam dissolving quickly tickling my torso making me laugh loud belly laughs mouth stretched wide and daring teeth showing eyes crinkling body shaking legs trembling The ocean of your love is calling me home. Am I ready to dive deeper? Am I ready to submerge not just my torso but my head as well? What if I can't breathe underwater? What if I can't open my eyelids? It's like my heart can't contain you. But then I touch my neck and find gills. But then I touch my eyes and find goggles. And then I know that I'm ready to dive.

0

Mar 18, 2017

Mar 18, 2017 at 1:25 PM UTC

sienna-luna

Paramour to Paradise

It's like my heart can't contain you. It's like I've let go of what was needed to let go of to let you in. And it's beyond my expectations like slipping my feet into the beach and finding my toes underneath soft, warm sand warmed by the sun. And for so long I've denied myself happiness. And for so long I've forced this picture that what I want is better than what I truly need. And I'm trying to understand why I had to give up one failed romantic relationship in order to find another that is a hundred times better. I realized that I had fallen in love with my own poetry I'd fallen in love with myself again and again and again never truly allowing myself to fall in love with anyone in reality because my fantasies were so much better. And then I met you the beach, the sand, the cold lip of water lapping against my ankles the submersion of water, salt, seaweed, and foam your warm hand in my own fingers latching the beautiful sunrise softly, strongly touching a horizon stretching so many miles away but in one swift look I saw balance. I saw joy. I saw the colors I've always loved and hoped to see one day. It's like my heart can't contain you. And the ocean is calling me home. That giant expanse of glistening water reflecting the sun's willful welcome as a new day begins so daunting so beautiful so overwhelming in its stark grandness so familiar this feeling. It's like I've known you for a very long time. It's like I've found myself smiling with the waves now pressing against my gut white sea foam dissolving quickly tickling my torso making me laugh loud belly laughs mouth stretched wide and daring teeth showing eyes crinkling body shaking legs trembling The ocean of your love is calling me home. Am I ready to dive deeper? Am I ready to submerge not just my torso but my head as well? What if I can't breathe underwater? What if I can't open my eyelids? It's like my heart can't contain you. But then I touch my neck and find gills. But then I touch my eyes and find goggles. And then I know that I'm ready to dive.

58

*Every hotel room makes me remember you, dear, lonely paramour.*

0

Jan 29, 2016

Jan 29, 2016 at 11:00 AM UTC

Avant-Garde

Haiku 130 - Lonely Paramour

*Every hotel room makes me remember you, dear, lonely paramour.*

3

Fragrance, Melody Music and song A cup of wine, and pleasing the breeze A kiss on the red petals and To escrow to embrace wind It's dancing, it's coming to you Warm and wobbly Full of my emotions Flying and soft Dreamy and drunk Full of my meaning Sits on your thirsty lips Shells meaning , it's my kiss Do you feel you feeling me?

0

Jan 20, 2016

Jan 20, 2016 at 9:48 PM UTC

Narcissus

Amorous

Fragrance, Melody Music and song A cup of wine, and pleasing the breeze A kiss on the red petals and To escrow to embrace wind It's dancing, it's coming to you Warm and wobbly Full of my emotions Flying and soft Dreamy and drunk Full of my meaning Sits on your thirsty lips Shells meaning , it's my kiss Do you feel you feeling me?

13

Oh Daughter of mine hear my plea, Surpass our challenge through beauty. Use the mind to be the game's mistress, Heart be bothered not of any distress. Acquire grace, charm and wiles to catch, A certain man of power is truly your match. If he be made of steel melt it with kiss, If born out of war then grant him peace. Gentle as feather strong as diamond, Bring him to his knees with every summon. Bestow him joy and fresh breath of life, And ease his encumbrance and strife. Receive the gifts of different pleasures, Which he brings in his cove of treasure. Swallow your embarrassment and pride, In this life we must sail with the tide. Heed not to Aphrodite's words of passion, Be guarded from the love arrow's invasion. Color red for victory but grounded by black, Loneliness is payment yet your smile is intact.

0

Oct 27, 2015

Oct 27, 2015 at 6:08 AM UTC

YRada

Advice

Oh Daughter of mine hear my plea, Surpass our challenge through beauty. Use the mind to be the game's mistress, Heart be bothered not of any distress. Acquire grace, charm and wiles to catch, A certain man of power is truly your match. If he be made of steel melt it with kiss, If born out of war then grant him peace. Gentle as feather strong as diamond, Bring him to his knees with every summon. Bestow him joy and fresh breath of life, And ease his encumbrance and strife. Receive the gifts of different pleasures, Which he brings in his cove of treasure. Swallow your embarrassment and pride, In this life we must sail with the tide. Heed not to Aphrodite's words of passion, Be guarded from the love arrow's invasion. Color red for victory but grounded by black, Loneliness is payment yet your smile is intact.

20

You speak of forbidden love And relish in its passion, Like a fat sow rolling in **** You cannot smell the stench, Of your joined betrayal, You couple with immorality. Go home to your true partner, Cast away your paramour, There can be no happy ending here, There is no love where there is no innocence, I know as I once danced late into the hot nights to this very same song. I could show you a skeleton path littered with the corpses of past lovers, Empty shells of who they once were, skin shredded by snakes, leaving the stench of our distaste behind, A litany of curious choices, A dirge of the fallen's passion, But you will not listen, For your ears are deafened by the drums of need, The screaming voice of your own conscience, And the death rattle of your lost integrity.

0

Jul 17, 2014

Jul 17, 2014 at 2:58 PM UTC

Mooretosay

Forbidden Love

You speak of forbidden love And relish in its passion, Like a fat sow rolling in **** You cannot smell the stench, Of your joined betrayal, You couple with immorality. Go home to your true partner, Cast away your paramour, There can be no happy ending here, There is no love where there is no innocence, I know as I once danced late into the hot nights to this very same song. I could show you a skeleton path littered with the corpses of past lovers, Empty shells of who they once were, skin shredded by snakes, leaving the stench of our distaste behind, A litany of curious choices, A dirge of the fallen's passion, But you will not listen, For your ears are deafened by the drums of need, The screaming voice of your own conscience, And the death rattle of your lost integrity.

19