She sits on the throne made of thorns
As a blooming rose catches blood drops
Like falling petals.

Eyes like cold obsidian daggers
Catch me in a trance bewildered
Dancing by the moonlit flora
Awash in diluted reverie,
A court jester to the night queen.

Her bountiful thighs part
And cross as her scent imbues
Madness at the froth of my maw
Spores like fungal infection-
Reduce my inhibition to a ravaging pulse,

This need -
Bores through sensibilities
As even the whispers of trees
Caution of these next moments
A harking plea from a zephyr breeze
But I am enthralled to this carnality
As she coaxes with her diaphanous digits,
I am but a genie to submit to her wishes

There by her side, sat below her
Kissing cold alabaster silky flesh
I could feel her touch, the wintery death of her breath
As fingers reach her wetted velvety lips
I could not feel her playful nips
As appetizers ripened hunger and her grip -
Cuffed ‘round my wrist
Pulling me from her honey *** gift
To meet her gaze, unafraid.

Lost in this trance,
Madness at the froth of my maw
I could not sense the peril,
Nor fear what I loved so earnestly
Without regret or second thought
As her effortless kiss caught my neck
Transcendental dreams reached fever pitch -
As my form began to sink from her effluvium kiss
My reddest wine is what she divined to dine
And the midst of such bliss
I came to fruition in nocturnal emission.

Awash in diluted reverie,
Ephemeral captured moments
Lost like youthful vitality,
As the last sanguine drop dripped dutifully
I was but a rose petal before the throne of my lover’s garden.
My goddess of the night.