My thoughts of you are always a lost battleground,
For poetry is a truth found not in the ordinary woman.
A decade I’ve emptied, a lifetime I’ll explore and abound
Against each season’s tempest, glaze and sun,
Until I embrace the glimmer of glory profound.
In each priceless moment, a meander has just begun.
What is it a marvel possesses that enkindles such wonder?
A spiritual momentum enthroned in every mind;
Who looks for she with the carriage that puts asunder,
Found atop mountains of epicure, few will find,
Save those blessed with the fortune to ascend and uncover
Purples of affluent softness, epitomizing womankind.
Like your hands, the prisms of my daily dreams and fantasies…
Rituals that I’m enslaved to, without your knowing.
Musing is a sweetness of those never tasted realities,
When I cherish the delicate shedding of your nakedness, growing –
Articulate, the rhombus of Michaelis, with its comely ecstasies
But my eyes are a fortress, guarded behind from glowing.
Yahweh’s providence is there so dearly enraptured
In your sacred part, where I’ve devoted every expression;
A fancy that exhausts any spoken word,
Whose beauty is like each birth of an artist’s vision.
Ineffable and breathless, my feelings that bouquet when pictured,
As your beloved arc unveils and opens for our fusion.
Death is with those who are merely a part of your audience;
I often question if and why you exist
For the aftermath of my gloom never relents,
Until every part of your flesh, I’ve worshiped and kissed.
Womanish virtue is a pinnacle – like chosen incense:
My thoughts of you are always, and never desist.
