Your shadowy dew,
That drops upon the folds to your dress,
I would dare a hand,
To tear that cloth, so that thy breasts fall free.
And consume thy bosom with so much glee.
Destiny holds a cruel fortune,
To our faces in a lock,
Mesmerizing are you, when full in form,
Beauty becomes wickedness, however,
When love is stripped away.
I take it away,
The cloth, I take away.
And then I stoop to drink,
From thy breast, from as much ivory
As I can consume.
A face so handsome, as mine,
To an embrace, of arms, entwined.
Your eyes are the cinnabar to tears I want for a meal,
And your tresses curl backwards to where they feel
A neck so solid and still soft for a bite.
Oh, as I am the beast,
To an angel so sweet.
Destiny beckons her elongated and tapered fingers,
To a mind, that is mine, where madness truly lingers.
I hold two breasts like slabs of granite.
Jagged and torn, my love is born,
A face so ripe as the next, with beauty hexed,
Where is my next feeding ground?
The nourishment to my lips,
Will be taken with hands that never slip.