I sit between, thy fragrant aroma,
And think, to myself,
“The beast, has finally arrived,
To call down, itself, upon a feast.”
I spoke to myself, a peaceful hymn,
Though, composed also, of heinous anger,
You threw danger, to the four winds,
And made yourself, the cherished queen.
I found thy breast, to be the sweetest,
Of all, womanly flavors,
As decadent, as the moon, against the sun,
As feminine, as the fertility, to make a son;
And to who, I call my “forever”,
It must be you, the woman, who I fall near.
Where was death, when I needed it, most?
Where was love, when I despised her, the most?
You have the beauty, that falters, God vision,
For He is me, the man, who has loved, a vision.
The breast, and its idle shape,
The face, with prettiest grace.
There is much madness, that I have spoken for,
And disease, that I crave, all-the-more.
You are, beautiful,
All the same, as the furthest tears.
Why does the world, despise us?
They have placed promise, behind pride,
They find more respect, among fear,
We consume each star, with faces so alike,
We feel pain, that reaches deep.
We have faces, that show, such distraught,
And make enemies, who make war.
I promise thee, for a finger, of two,
That the world, will no longer, see our faces, in misery.
I promise thee, by a hand, that takes your own,
That I’ll love, with certainty, and growth.