I hate the dripping dark hollow behind the little wood;
Its tips a cursed maroon with a blood-red heath.
I think I praised and lamented it too soon;
Before seeing its scent; I saw already its stray mystical death.

My crown is torn, outraged by florid winds and scorn;
Like a tangled old roots of the windblown thorn;
I shall feel scanty by my own poetry,
And throw it about, duly, like a static little joke.

I shall let my heart grow dull and illiterate;
I shall not taste joy, no more, in any clear--flowery fate.
I shall seek everything bitter, and not sweet;
Even not pure as the honey of a bee; for it shall be plain.

I shall curve and bend any straightforward light;
I shall harass it, and blind it--as if my ghost’s dead soul is very not here.
Ah, where is but Maud, Maud, Maud, and Maud;
Perhaps she is astray in my memory still, and not by my side.

I feel relieved so soon as glanced at her beside me;
She owns still that full lips like a perniciously tasty moon;
She is adorable like the flower of heaven itself;
She strikes me again when away, and tosses me about when near.

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud;
Tame me again with thy rain of laugh;
Saint me once more like a fresh young bird;
Come to me now, and return my unheeded love.

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud;
And kissing her forehead takes me back to that day;
A day of myths, a day of agile swans and storms;
An ornate time of hatred; a whirl of bitter fate; a dust of sorrow.

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud;
And again I was alive in this tale, with a burning heart;
On one eve of tears, a mischief, and a wan poetry;
I caught about shadows in which there was no soul of Maud.

I could only see the stones, lying ghastly about the fireplace;
Ah, Maud, are you but still haunting those whimsical moors?
Their strange murmurs but I cannot hear;
But still they consume me, ah, I am scared;
I wish they would be gone soon, I wish you were but here.

These storms were amusing but peculiar;
They are bizarre, but intelligent and stellar;
And calling thy name out but breathes into me strength;
Ah, but should I be here, and bear away thy image alone?

Ah, and thou wert in but nymphic and lilac dream;
And my heart was still not massaged by the tender storm;
For it meant thee, and hungered but for thee only;
And in the midst of love had it longed, and yearned for thee.

Ah, where is but Maud, Maud, Maud, and Maud;
Her with her childish eyes and rounded head of bronze,
With her rapturous steps and wild glittering aroma,
With her atrocious jokes, and a wintry secret touch?

But still she was not anywhere about;
She dissolved like one romantic bough of soda;
And within a rough joke, she would be but gone;
And now the storm returned, but I was wholly on my own.  

Ah, and now the striking storm is mounting the earth;
Should I write alone and chill myself by the green hearth?
For I hath nothing to console and lengthen my parched logs;
I shall wait outside and drift about yon wintry bog.

Ah, where is but Maud, Maud, Maud;
Maud with her heart-shaped face and bare voice aloud;
A voice that soaked my senses and craving throat;
Maud but teased me and left me to that joke.

Where is but Maud, Maud, Maud and Maud;
Maud, the goth princess within my ancient poetry;
Who but remained symmetrical and biblical in her vain torments;
Who but stayed sturdy and silent; amidst her anger, and vain fellows’ arguments.

Listen to me. I am but full of hatred.
I am neither a gentleman nor a well-bred;
I, who is just a son of an infamous parson;
A malleable son; with a bleak aura of a putrid spring.

I, one who crafted ingenious jokes;
But interminable as they always are;
I made Maud sit still as I held my woodwork;
While she perched herself on yon bench, gazing at dispersed starry stars.

Maud the shadow in my pale mirror;
At times she ceased at morns, but retreated at night;
On her brother’s sight she fled in horror;
But on mine her smile turned me bright.

Maud was idle, sparkling, vibrant, and tedious;
Her heart was free and not marred by stupor.
She was the sun on my very bright days;
She made me startled; she always left me curious.

Maud the green of the farm, the red of the moon;
Without her everything would spring not and remain odious;
Everything would be bleak and stayed tedious;
Ah, but still I could not own her, though I was her saviour.

I was a farmer and perhaps still am;
Perhaps that’s why her mother ditched me with shame.
Maud said she had not places like home;
Her house was the mere shallow--and gratuitous throne.

Maud came often down and agitated;
Her mood shadowy, she cried and cried too aggravated;
I caressed her back, and placed my palms on her white knees;
She told me stories whenever no-one else would see.

She wanted not to mount the throne;
She giggled often, at our country escapade;
She loved my cottage, she sweetened my thin grass;
Even those apple trees had then her eyes, which sprayed tough, lonely seas of green.

Maud took to hymn and dear children’s little songs;
She was popular always among the talkative throngs.
She would love to dance and wiggle and turn around;
While village pupils gathered to sing a noble sound.

Ah, but when the mirthless prince arrived;
With white horses and swords of a knight;
Maud was swallowed every morning, all through day and night;
Maud was no more seen by my side.

I thought I was not alive, for dreams were unreal;
If they had been, then they I’d have want’d to ****;
But seeing Maud not gave me fretful chills;
I often woke up tensely, within a midnight’s shrills.

Ah, where is but Maud, Maud, Maud, and Maud;
Maud my bumblebee and my delicate little honey.
I kept waiting for her behind the rustic brook;
I fetched my net and fished by my old nook.

Ah, and where is Maud, Maud, Maud, and Maud;
My eyes were still and my chest could no more speak.
I wearily fancied she had been kidnapped faraway;
She would be jailed in a sore realm, and would no more be back here.

Ah, for had she been lost, then I had lost my ultimate pearl;
For there would no more be magic, there would be no more of her;
No-one would so restore my original spring;
Perhaps there would be no spring at all, and I would suffer in summer.

And I would lose anyway--my lyrical, elusive demon;
For Maud had always been elusive herself.
She wore that evil smile and thin laugh;
As I told her tales of fairies that she loved.

As I am fond of magical poetry and dramas;
Maud too used to read them with genuine personas.
She was my epic fanatical little devil;
She liked tropical cold and a faithful Mephistopheles.

I should be Faust, as she once said;
For had I fair hair, yet a bald head;
She said like Faust, I was cleverly amusing;
But to me, like Mephistopheles--she was unusually entertaining.

She danced before me a beautiful ballet;
She was young and keen to levitate as a ballerina;
She crafted me limericks and such fair lines of sonnets;
She made earth my heaven, and my melodies a twin cantata.

Ah, and where is Maud, Maud, Maud, and Maud;
I need my butterfly amongst this wheezy curdling cold.
I need my lover to soothe my chained hysteria;
I need to get out of here, and feed my love with her charms.

Ah, but where is Maud, Maud, Maud, is not she here?
I was then screaming in my solitude, could she but not hear?
I could speak not, no more--sore and wounded by this snowstorm;
I crept sick and weak like a dumb old worm.

She was not even heard of upstairs;
While I was dying here as a roaring beetle.
I hath almost lost all my creative flair;
I felt tormented and neglected and nearly feeble.

Ah, but a story like this is not such a fable;
So at that time I did shun sadness and seek a warm ending;
But indeed, to escape fate the poor were perhaps not able;
And the farmer’s son shall never be a king.

And ‘twas the nobles’ right to be idyllic;
To be deemed far then fairly righteous.
My charms were trivial, and so was then my wit;
My prayers were too parted and despaired; no matter how rigorous.

I kept my work along the countryside;
I toiled all night and behind fierce daylight.
I hoped Maud would see me back one day;
But what I found was to my dismay!

Ah, Maud, for she was now engaged;
To that pathetic creature the cursed morn brought about;
And parties arranged, voices too raised;
The union was now what people had in thought.

Onto my shoulders my head kept sinking;
I killed myself nearly, for my irksome defeat in this rivalry;
A rivalry that failed to transgress vital destiny;
A rivalry I could not even bear to think.

But again, this love had always been everything;
And thus Maud’s union would equal my death;
One night I crept out of my bed;
I had in hand a keychain and a net.

The soldier was infused by sound sleep;
And into Maud’s grand chamber I crept;
Everything was pink and quite neatly kept;
But woke I her not--as I heard her breast breath slowly.

She was tremendous still--in beauty;
Maud in her splendour; so young and free.
Ah, she was free but not free, I fathomed;
I looked at her over and over again.

I looked at her violet bed and comfort net;
Ah, my Maud too ****** and temptingly red.
She was too abundant in her young and chaste soul;
Ah, I could not imagine how she would soon be one else’s.

Long did I stand; ‘till morning streamed back again;
Still I remained unmoved; I stared at my darling in vain.
I jumped startled as the door opened;
And showed me the horror of the Queen!

‘Come, ye’ fool’, she voicelessly instructed;
Her face emotionless as these words emanated;
‘And embrace thy very fate’, to the handcuffs me she directed;
‘For daring look into my dame’s immaculately flawless chamber’.

She pointed thereof--a black gun at my chest;
It would soon burst out and tear my vest;
And even fly me straight to death;
So drifted I, without further haste nor breath.

Those poor soldiers imprisoned me there;
A cellar room at the top of filthy stairs;
I stayed awake only for grief and tears;
And most of the time I laid about sleepless and stared.

I grew skinless as my bones squinted;
And laughed at me with their sordid might;
Flies were about me, bending onto my rotten pies;
And slices of meat left out by sniggering guards.

I hit my head on witnessing Maud’s cold marriage;
‘Twas on a Saturday on the castle’s rain-wetted field.
I heaved myself onto the windowsill and saw;
How the couples were blessed and sent thereby back.

I could not see Maud’s face and fleshy cheeks;
But didst I feel her discarded tears;
Marred and defiled her lovely fits;
Though just those innate, and not out there.

I struck the lifeless paint with my bare palms;
Now the walls were tainted; they smelled like my blood.
Time passed and desire for Maud was never killed;
I’th missed her every day, since then, and perhaps always will.

But my love for Maud was never probable;
I was decent, honest, but indeed not preferable;
I was not even preferable by fate, as thou might see;
Fate who is neither truthful; nor frankly urges us to lie.

I often laid hopeless by the moonbeam;
Until night came and eyesight grew more and more vulnerable.
I waited ‘till it was dark and left to day no more gleam;
Then took my journal of Maud’s jests and read her affable poems.

I turned around--and would disgrace my bed still;
I was plain starved but had no desire to be properly fed;
Of a dream of death I grew instantly pertinacious;
And of my future tomb I grew fonder--and yet rapidly curious.

Ah, but my sweet Maud, Maud, Maud, and Maud;
And deliriously she somehow became pregnant;
But remorse said she kept the souls of two;
And fatefully could not make them both perfect!

I indeed plain prayed for Maud’s survival;
I cared not whose sons they might be;
Ah, but the twins were still sinning babies--as I comprehended,
For they were formed not from cells of mine!

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud,
And during those last days she was cautiously ill;
And a drive of cholera had again grown widespread;
But she was not maddened; by it she was not marred.

She was sickened by temper still;
And the prince found dead, she grew more terrifyingly ill;
She had a pure heart, so she flourished not over the beast’s death;
Nonetheless, he remained the father of yon sickly offspring.

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud,
I was duly growing perfectly anxious;
She was to give birth--ah, to those little ignoramuses;
And within a little chord in one or days of two--she would do so.

But without a father to care for her notorious sons;
And even I was locked away, and could not do so;
I was terrified, I was horribly undignified;
To learn this stern reality we were so sullenly faced with!

Ah, not now! I could not too believe my ears!
Maud and her children were dead--they’d been stillborn;
Before they left Maud alone to receive her fate;
Her locksmith would not come; he had another due in a nameless town.

By the time he arrived my darling had gone;
Perhaps she was now shimmering in heaven;
Enchanting her children with her enormous spells;
Narrating stories no plain human could ever tell.

Even in heaven my love would perhaps be famous;
Her tenderness would make other angels jealous;
And angered by envy, they would gather and complain to God;
How an earthly soul could be more vivacious than their heavenly were.

Ah, but where is Maud, Maud, Maud;
Maud and her chain of songs that were never to be broken;
Maud and her familiarity with gardens and blue lilies;
Maud and her immaculate pets of birds that still sweetly sing.

Ah, but where is my darling, my darling, my darling;
My eternal ocean, my hustling flowerbed, my immortal;
My poem, my enchanting lyric, my wedding ring;
My novelty, my merited charm, my eternal.

And now she was longing for her grave, as I’d been told;
For I’d been told by the dimmed torches and fuss and mirthless air outside;
By the endless wandering and the prince’s wails and wordless screams.
Ah, my Maud had now migrated from her life--but attained her freedom!

And he was thus unworthy of being in her heaven;
Her heaven where there would be me, her true love;
And thus he would be glad to greet his fires of hell;
He would marry an evil angel there--and make himself again full.

But I’d be with Maud, Maud, Maud and Maud;
I’d be again with my gem, indefatigable little darling;
Whose voice was unsure, whose poems were never known;
But ‘twas enough that they’d been known to me, her secret--ye’ dearest lover.

So took I, that spinning penchant and a circle of strings;
The edges I matched to the chains on my ceilings.
I braced myself for my very own fiery death;
But again, I’d be with Maud and death would no more, aye, be sad.

Thus the above poem was done by my spirit;
But with the same token and awe of genuineness and wit;
I feel tired--I shall close my eyes, and thus enjoy my heaven now;
For my wife and starlings are all waiting for me to-morrow.

It is now nighttime in heaven;
And there is indeed, no place on earth lovelier;
I gaze into my wife with a loving madness;
Her cheeks sweeter still, than any proudest swiftness.

I shall take my vow of marriage tomorrow;
My proud wife sitting in yon angelic chair by my side.
I shall cradle, then, those white little nuptial fairies;
They are Maud’s children’s, but lithe and gracious and bow to me in chaste mercies.

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud, she is but all mine now;
I am still surprised now, as sitting by this heaven riverside.
One even grander than the one I’d had beside the lake;
Which I often farmed when I had needs to bake.

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud, she is a ghost but as ever lively;
We are both dead but she boldly remaineth lovely;
I know she is worthier than serene jewels or mundane affairs;
And still she is worthier all the same, than any other terrific palace--or heir.

Ah, Maud, Maud, Maud, and this war is but all over now;
Thus let us dream dead of the exciting tomorrow.
We shall see life and our children grow;
We shall witness delight--and miracles none ever knows.

The king and queen cried
“Bless us! We cannot conceive!”
And “blessed” they were.
Their heir, a miracle, a vision of royalties.

And so a celebration was in order
(as is most pertinent in events such as princess births)
to adorn the little lamb with gifts.

“Gifts”.

Whether the blame lies here or there
our princess lamb heir stands the most to suffer
in cases such as forgotten friends.

Or unforgetful vengeance--

So spite screeched an everlasting “CURSE THEE TO DEATH ON THE ***** OF A SPINDLE!”
And with a turn of its heels shock
set       in.
...shock
sinks
in.
The well-intentioned sprite attempts to soften the wolf’s blow on our little lamb heir--

Only a nap--
only it would seem such in the conjecture of events.

Now no longer is she princess baby heir then does a spindle come alive
X winters later!
(convenient, one might say--in all the land one’s but burned, temptingly locked away in the curious tower)
Insert fainting sounds.
Insert crowded gasps.
Insert “told you so!”
And the sheep follow our little lamb’s sleep.
One hundred year sleep.

Hair follicles sprout a slimy green, and not-so-royal fungi flourishes--
brash brambles tuck in the herd as if to say
“Sleep tight!
Don’t let the mites bite!”
But not our little lamb.
Reassuringly beautiful princess lamb heir keeps
like red wine.
She is only to be drank up from the
right cup--
a proper lamb.
Prince Lamb.
Whose worries consist of much different things than our lamb heir--
but for another ‘lore.

Our Prince Lamb dips, sips,
lips on lips
and she is awake!
Beautiful princess lamb knows exactly what to make
of all this?

The sheep herd rises,
and their “joyous” bleating reverberate
and penetrate
cold castle walls and break down the thorny cover.

And they lived happily
(and most originally)
ever after--
as sheep tend to do.

Violet, in her blue dress
Of fresh, giddy dreams,
Flounces under waves of wind;
Twirling and bowing
To dandelion greens.

Throwing caution to the breeze,
Unveils her heart
With envious ease;
A natural flirt, and temptingly close
To feathery pink mimosa groves.

The line on the sand
A scar on the flat surface
A wound from a knife

Temptingly perfect
The idealist’s barrier
Asking to be crossed

Begging to be crossed
Whispering dark promises
Of god, glory, gold

Seductively calling
“Step across my idealist
There will be reward.”

And the cry goes
Unignored by cur’ous ear
That quickly slips pass

So willingly to
Forget the line they, themselves
Drew not to be toucheded

Then they hide the line
Filling it with their morals
All to prevent shame

they draw a new line
On the morality plain
The old forgotten

This new scratch is soon
Crossed as swiftly as the last.
More soul left behind

Until there’s nothing
Just a dark spot in shadows
On the moon’s dark side

To explore the garden of Eden, beautiful in it's innocence. To savour the prospect of sin. To gaze with adoration at fruit bursting with juice hanging, temptingly low inviting, asking to be plucked. To fight desire, to give in and be, forever lost.

Sara L Russell, 28/2/14, 00:30

Given time
the inner eye of memory sees with softer reverie,
as through a muslin curtain; softly veiled and far away -
and how temptingly tranquil seem the waters of the past.

Given time
lost minutes lengthen into hours, to long-remembered days,
lost words that needed saying fall like petals in the rain
Turning slowly in the air until they fade to dust at last.

Given time
a distant haunting melody's translated into sighs
birdsong at morning lilting like a glimmering of streams;
and moments of reflection spill too swiftly through our hands.

Given time
dry leaves fly through the chilly air and scatter in the sky
summer will have her finery returned from green to gold,
and snow will cover everything, like time's relentless sands.

She flashed her carmine smile at me,
lips spread like two blooming crimson petals,
beauty mark perched in a temptingly kissable spot,
just above her immaculate lip line.  
Her fang tooth flirtatiously turned inward
& made her look as if
always brewing intent to initiate adventure,
certain to be pleasurable but prohibited,
& most surely to provide
ample opportunities to escape trouble
after having taunted it.
This minor imperfection served as a reminder that
her beauty was still human,
or else I'd have believed that
she was the product of a profoundly, elaborate hallucination;
that I had not yet woken from an impeccable dream.
She roused me up from my stupor & seduced me into sojourns
through the city blocks that lined our teeming, little hometown.
We stood out as dreamers
in a land full of people with their heads down
like drones, working for their hive.
She kept me feeling alive,
& questioning the complacency of my surroundings
in a muted, Midwestern mecca
where you are taught to accept what you are told
& swallow down bland traditions & institutions
like cold oatmeal.
She made me wish I was a boy
so I could seize her by the perfect slopes of her
statuesque cheekbones & paint my timid, **** lips
with her carmine smile;
but to play in her paint would be to stain harsh red
across the flawless landscape
of our very intimate understanding
of one another.

& so I long for Carmine.

Curiosity killed the cat, is that so?
Yet the cat has still eight lives at hand
Day after day I pounce mindfully into the almost fantastical battlefield they created
That is so cunningly masked as it polar opposite
An endless field of love they advertise so temptingly

Yes eight lives with eyes newborn
That forever preserve my immortal memory-
Lessons learnt. Morals understood. Choices made
My feline eyes see in my darkness
Their glow shines a constant glowing light exposing your disguises
Yes, my transient companions
I see you

Beauty for a moment is found in cherry lips and the curve of hips,
Hidden in youth, seeming more lasting than in truth.
Beauty for a while can be found within a smile,
Temptingly genuine, but nothing one should trust in.
Beauty for this life should be in the heart of a husband or wife,
Lasting and faithful, and, of the earthly, the most stable.
Beauty for eternity is only ours through the blood of the One most Holy,
Given to those who believe in a Spirit that will never leave.

Put your trust in beauty...how long it will last is yours to choose.

The bones of my resolve

crumble porously,

muscles slackened

by stealthy Spirit-Flu

creeping into my psyche

when my guard is down,

leaving behind only

a molten mass

feverish and limp,

juicy veins squeezed

dry of life-force..

Sleep's finger-crook

beckons temptingly

offering blessed escape

temporary at best

from sickness of the soul.



Eileen Auger

March 21, 2008

Listening to lapping waves
licking the curving shore
reminds me of your arms
leaves me longing for more.

If I could have one wish
on this very night
I would make love to you
until early morning's light.

I would lay beside you
trace every single plain
of your taunt shape
leave you calling my name.

Make you squirm
with sweating palms you'd clench the sheet
loving you long
make you complete.

Temptingly tease you
until you could take no more
drive you crazy
make you beg and implore.

Come way down
to bring you pleasure
throw open wide
sweet lover's treasure.

Leave you shaking
yet passion unabated
but physically
completely sated.

The leaves are floating
sliding off your skin
The orange and reddish colors
perfectly match your hair
your eyes stand out more
their blue color so frail
yet so temptingly wild
I know you hate this season
but oh how it loves you

I have never encountered nature
In something so human
I have never encountered bark that
Sees with the glassy clarity of an eye
I have never wanted to touch the fog
So badly with my lips that I thirst.

I huddle on this packed earth
Making the decision of life or wonder
I skim freshly fallen needles near me
too afraid to grasp them
I drink water that is not fog and long
To jump into the mist that hovers.

I hold back as if there were a poison
Dripping as sap from each tree
The needles so fine and sharp
Gleam menacingly in filtered light
The mist without air poised temptingly
Ready to choke me at the first breath.

Helpless I rest with the decay
Hoping the sun will raise a new day
Burn off the mist that so enthralls me
Dry up the sap that bleeds from the trees
Sweep away the glinting needles
With a breath of air
Replacing the moon that so knowingly
Winks from above the trees.

You are the chills that make traveling down my spine its hobby
when your breath slides itself temptingly down the pattern of my sweating neck
and both of our names become a slurred chorus of too-close puffy lips and rolled back eyes and soft writhing hips being spoken over each other with more crescendo each time and louder and louder and you know my fingernails have always thirsted for your skin and my tongue has always pleaded to be a part of you and
my breaths have refused to do anything else than inhale your exhales.
The windows of your car are perspiring like us and I think the temperature is rising high enough for everything to explode.
I think this moment was always meant to happen.

It's the strangest thing.
You're across the room and I am relaxed but aware.
You're near me and I can talk and think, but I can't really focus.
Then you're close, and it's all I am aware of.

We're stood on the underground, talking confidently
Playing our game of flirting
And then the doors open and people pour on
Gently encouraging our bodies closer together.
He voluntarily moves closer, his face an inch from mine
And my mind numbs.

I can feel his arm against mine,
His breath on my face,
Our legs slightly entwined from the crowding,
And I freeze, both nervous and electrified
Aware of how easily I could embrace him
Aware of how much I want to.

The moment passes and my heart slows
But my body is more aware of his presence
Of how near to me he stands every so often
His face so temptingly close to mine.

I am so unsure of how he feels that I go over all the things that prove he likes me;
him placing gum in my mouth, avoiding my open hand
his eagerness to see me even when it's inconvenient
his intimate smile when I make him happy
his infectious laugh when I say something funny
his reference to our inside jokes
his snapchat showing that I am his favourite
But most of all his ignorance to my personal space
A space I want him in.

I count the minutes until you will invade it again.

I must have been out of my mind-
vacationing in Palestine.
It was temptingly cheap to make the trip
And hotels on the Gaza Strip
Are affordable to all,
- Just three hours’ drive
from the Wailing Wall.
I’d rent a car but I’m out of luck.
No, I do not wish to rent a truck.
With streets so cratered I understand
Why folks call this the “holy Land”
This land where swarthy men in sheets
Hold daily protests in the streets.
This land where nightly rockets roar,
There are no bars or package stores.
I should have checked the Michelin guide!
For now I have to run and hide
Next year I will avoid this war
And stay back home on the Jersey shore!

Living in the same stretch of forest
He was suffering from acute boredom
What came to his mind he knew best
The animal decided to leave his kingdom.
Perhaps he was tired of the same old story
And decided to explore new territory
Or ran partner-less and sought a new mate
So tried a new path thought it the best bet.
After walking for miles throughout the day
He found a tall fence obstructing his way
He halted on his track gave a growling sound
Looked for some opening some way around.
Before him lay temptingly sprawling greens
He thought he must go there by any means
Then like a flash an idea crossed his head
There was no looking back he must go ahead.
Going back some length he gave a mighty spring
Flew over the barricade like a bird on its wing
It was a miracle he could land on his feet
Stranger still the fact the animal made it.
It was dreamlike he felt supreme pleasure
Roared in joy at the newly found treasure
But soon he felt himself an intruding stranger
Others of his tribe considered him outsider.
They looked upon him in utter disdain
Here he was no king nor could he reign
After a month or so he yearned for his home
Longed for the land he could freely roam.
He thought only of taking a quick flight
Once more overcome the fence’s tall height
You know what one can do with freedom in sight
The tiger escaped the park leapt the 18 feet height!

She's mine
Home
Abode
Crib
Den
Condo
Beau
View
Co-op
Castle top
Mansion
Shack of love
Flying dove
Angelic being
Diety queen
Fashion dream
Everything
Espousal ring
King and queen
I dont want to her leave
For I needeth mine soul
Just tout me openly
Grace me temptingly
Embrace me charmingly
Not being afraid to show affections
Thou art mine home
Thou art mine only
Direction
Whilst I weep
I wonder?
When wilt she go all in
Mine amour?
Mine queen?
Mine passion
Mine all
Mine dream
Mine only
I guess I must wait,
Than wait I wilt

This vessels bloods spilt!!!

The grains of sand grow fewer each day,
The task of the hourglass is at hand;
Shamed by poor decisions that paved my way,
Tears flow like pearls from a broken strand  

My heart was drowning in loneliness --
Ten fathoms deep, and still descending,
Crying mutely while sinking in distress,
Begging for a merciful ending

Then my heart was shaken to its core
And in golden laurels it was framed
When unexpected love knocked at the door,
Errant love, just begging to be claimed

Why did I not let my heart take flight?
Like a bashful ****** it waited,
With expectations of that wondrous night
When passion's hunger would be sated!

How clearly I see in retrospect
A foolish choice I could not then see;
Deprived of love, and weakened by neglect,
My heart now stands in judgement of me

These days, slow and labored is my stride,
As my conscience plots its alibi;
I found a place where my regrets can hide,
But loneliness vows to testify

Guilty! is the verdict that I hear --
For my folly, a price must be paid;
Eden's garden had never been so near,
With its fruits so temptingly displayed

Fraught with doubt, I turned his love away,
Sending hope back to its darkened lair;
And for this offense I face Judgement Day,
My wronged heart has no mercy to spare