Jack's Twisted Kingdom
2011-07-20 21:24:48 (UTC)

The Gales

o woman of thine, who's profound
wrested faith in men shouldn't so
abound, that once sickly state of
exigent lust lofted thee to heights
of salient glee

o woman of thine, I call to thee
at night's wafting embrace delight
in calling your name emboldening
the light of thy breast to cast
upon me your heartsick woes and
in vanity I whisper sweetly into
your ear, fight on, fight on

o woman of thine, come hither with
thy head held high, your comeliness
reciprocates the courage of a thousand
helens before you, casting off a mere
ten thousand more ships into the horizon's
beck and call, we are all men, sheep who
would gladly cry your winsome name
in our heated embrace of thy lovely form

o woman of thine, that headlong thrush
into the winds of cacophonic bliss to wit
you bled that last drop of blessed
nascent lust for a poor fool should be
naught for lost, as if nothing else you
will fight on, fight on, fight again

o woman of thine, with features fair,
and eyes of blue grey dusks seeping into
the air, you do naught without a verve for
the lusting of life, save for this, your heart
is love personified and your soul a tangent
of bliss we recover little of our senses, nor
would we desire it any other way

o woman of thine, I beseech you fairly, lust
on, fight on, beat the drums of your heart upon
the shores of this stoneworked bulwark, know
with the intensity of it all, you will sally forth, and
on, and on, and you shall fight with and claw with
all the merriment of those forlorn before thee

o woman of thine, creature of delight, songstress
of temptations bless-ed innocuous sigh who does
so bind us to fret on with the coming change of
your tempo, your body temple desiring nothing but
the subtle touch of us nimbly in the night, kissing
you softly in all those wickedly lovely places
enflaming and engulfing your very self

o woman of thine, walk sweetly in the roses, drag
thy tender fingertips along the thorns, for even if
they prick thee, none shall wound thy brocaded heart,
in the winds of night, we all dance in the light of the moon
in worshipped fawning admiration of thee

o woman of thine, ignore not the flights of fancy for
your eyes hide behind those drapes of gold, and none
of us who love thee would be so unbold to try to capture
even a faery glint of your come hither hips, those soft
lovely lips pursed against our own, we are bold, and
we are roan

o woman of thine, grab the reins, snare the drumbeated
heart of yours and exalt to the rain clashed denizens that
you, a’boldened and feted will conquer all who lay before
thy wicked tongue with telltale signs and happy love, a
war of lust calls, and you on the battlements armed with
all any could desire, a pure heart, reddened locks and eyes
smoldering of fire and midnight

o woman of mine, that twinge of lust becomes you,
o woman of mine, that withering stare of heated love
blasts us, o woman of mine, we love thee into the night
o woman, o woman of thine, courage is your creature,
o woman of mine, o woman of thine

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