Modern Romanticism

The aspect of romance, divided between the heartening and the thoughtful.

Excerpt from a Novel – The Chartres Melody – “A Sliver of Erotica”

May 7, 2019

What beauty that is ornate!

For beauty that belongs to the virgin is as the treasure that lays in the bowels of a ruin. Such treasure seems gilded in precious stones for those of competition to make worthy for a mantle. It is not sent to a museum, for the museum of choice would be the home of the possessor. Those men who possess virginity are as the ruler annexing the land that he claims as his own. Those Englishmen who claimed the western world as their own, had claimed virgin land. It is but an endless cycle.

While the left hand is placed beneath the left breast, the right hand is atop the mirror’s ovular frame. A certain scent is excreted from the underarm. Pheromones that bring the hunter to the prey as the mind of the predator becomes hungered by the scent of blood. The strands of hair underneath her arms have trapped this scent in the coils they represent. Any passerby should favor this aroma. They will favor this aroma.

The scent is what Minette finds fascinating.

A woman’s scent that grows from the natural pores to the skin is designed under the beauteous features of shadowed smiles. An aroma so great, it is likely to put the most fiendish beast to rest in its temper of destruction. The woman of sleeveless attire is next to the boar upon the fire as the Nordic tribe satiate their appetites on such a meal.

It is pleasurable. It is magnificent. It is desirous.

Minette lifts her arms even higher. She rests the forearm at the top of her head.

The odor is lifted to two tiny nostrils.

Her eyes appear to glimmer in this studious expression devoted to the obvious sight of puberty of this underarm. Fine strands of auburn hair are shown in the firelight beside her. It is an apparent tool, dedicated to the slave that is the body. For attraction is brought into the mood of erotica. Lust is for intimacy alone.

She softly inhales through her nose. It had been to capture the scent of attraction that is so easily taken from the sheen on the pale skin. When a man will look upon the sheen to a woman’s skin, it is enough just by imagining the desires from himself to mold into the shape of her godly body. He is the possessor to that body. The evening and her skin shall be joined in unison with his own unyielding hunger.

These descriptions are desires so very carnal. Skin that is as milk. Ivory that is meant to flood the earth in a vast ocean of white. What is more desired than purity? Even those who are arrogant enough to mention it being obsolete, will be the ones to also not wish to do harm unto the good. These are not understandings to the ignorant mind of Minette. She holds no comprehension of white. In her mind, it is merely art.

She whispers a verse to herself. “Those crude on the ship of frost; still true to captives accost.”


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