rare form of a Woman
rolled script on the cusp of his tongue
his heart's last bell cracked to its toll’s rung
deaf ears preoccupied with low sun's orange glow
he is dumbfounded; stands there beside her
on horizon’s vast stretch, idyllic view
stretched to tautness
her eyelids so very beautiful,
no blemish she looks
her ivory face, cameo skin beguiles
golden lips dusted with its powder,
precious, harvested from the saddlebags
of honey bees in the alps of Switzerland
living there still untainted by nets of man
free of dregs of his dross stained hand
having pillaged every land
but her sweet skin still remains
her goddess flesh
no such one can ever sever
from her heart does pour milk
princes’s vialed myrrh
for his wild journeys far
though entranced temptresses lie in wait
entice his fate, so distant beyond
still threatens his frail mind’s hope
yet faith sure prevails over fate
without which no one can or ever lose
vanquished moment here,
so take her hand in full view,
dowry’s land, in midst of concrete jungle
but still rare in these times
Your princess walks graceful,
wondrous woman she is, devoid of ploy
no end to hers,
maiden virgin’s everlasting joy
Release, awake, little lad
mannish man, take love’s stand
cast aside jester’s toy, now succumb
to her reign of touch,
meld, one union joined pure, sweet
insomuch as you yearn and lust
her sweet pressing perfumed soft grasp
feminine form, pearly slender hand
your disheveled, lover’s stance will enhance her own
passion and pull of thrust
to guide your ruddy, blended form to hers
become as one, no matter circumstance
seize lover’s lass in the speckled noonday’s sun
her hair of sage, eyes creamy gaze of stag’s doe
fierce fragrant female form enraptures, envelopes
your core, weakness falls upon you
Magic, she is beyond the norm
she is the newly fallen scent of wild’s down
trees hemlock, unlock those lips hers
the boughs unlock, in their mist, shade
that key is you, for it she thirsts,
embrace take her there on your white steed
escape the drudgery of this twenty first
century’s ending days
in the remnant vestiges, glimpses’ streaks
of what is left of earthly light’s dimming
lose yourselves, remain pure,
before extinguished by artificial light
How lovely her jeweled feet in chamois sandals
handcrafted by the village sage
whose hands have guided this darling lass
since her inception borne of old,
he prepared for you
by her parents, though poor
not caged by standards of modernity, so called
they fared for you both, these final days
and you, the one she well claimed
O fortunate one!
there is no other way to say
worthy of her glance; her view
drink deeply, tomorrow your shell dies
you may cry in her lovely bosom
the one you kiss; you suckle
that match, her twin, her ivory chin
her breasts of milk,
fashioned of ivory silk
your stroke between your finger’s thumb
lovingly smooth,
she’s your only one
only yours for all eternity