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In admiration of your form,Upon the pedestal where you stand,The base to make you a statue,Raised high enough for viewing eyes.In loving you, I have made art,I have made a woman of marble. I love thee, with all thy famous beauty.Console me, dear one, with all the infamous tragedy.The fallen tears, down from your cheeks,Will…
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“The woman’s body is the land, inevitable to grow the flower that smells of rotten flesh, or the flower that remind one of a fragrant meadow. Of all men and their belief that a woman should be decorated, it is a false belief. Of a woman’s mind, and to say that a man cannot comprehend…
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Faced with a cheek,Of rose and ivory together,Unlike the many splintered faces,Not rent apart by so many tears,That you keep beneath the swept reddish hair,I feel thee, with a weight that pulls, and does not press. I believe,That love can truly dance.It is, as I’ve seen it, with eyes upon the hands,At thy waist, and…
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Let us find, within each other’s eyes,The horrid filth from a faceless world,We see it, and do not adore it.We have it, the love between us and it.And we watch,While we glide,Among clouds and birds, alike.We feel, with empathy that collides,Into our unfurled desires,The desire to shape, the desire to mold. You have a face…
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There is much to adore of a form so raw with flesh. She shows bravery by walking to a place where she may admire her form. As I peer through this window to see her, I may watch the breasts move upwards, as she steers such a form. I may see her cheeks with redness…
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For what I behold,A Face of Inspiration,Gained from who I love,And all I love,Being she,And her heart, made of gold. Behold, before thee,Beautiful woman,Who belongs to me.There is much weeping upon my face,My eyes once showed tragedy,And now they behold the highest joy. Deny nothing,We’ve become the everything.Your face is there for my quill,And the…
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Go belittle all else!Unto this rotten love,Of all else given,We’ve dismembered enough,As our cries show many agonies,Many moments of eternity. We are frail children,Tiny ones of no might.We have death as mothers,And cruelty as fathers. We are children perhaps of love?We are what remains of a rotten world,And its disguised future.Funerals surround us in antiquity.…
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Where should I fathom myself,Upon the furthest glacier that remains stagnant,To the most nurturing of moons?Blessed beauty, you’ve seen me,And my fingers are broken.And you’ve seen me, too,With eyes that are swollen and red.I’ve wept the nights away. I’ve also felt strength alike a god,And you’ve seen that, too.I’ve died repeatedly,For what I believe, truthfully.The…
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“In what a woman denies, it is the aspect of devotion. She still yearns for it. In what a man denies, it is his strength, the willpower he must possess to return to her. When we relate a ‘Second Coming’ of Christ to these differences, we behold denial and yearning. A woman’s lover, was Christ,…
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Where beauty forms endless trails, Alike to your bleeding heart, Where veins softly flow, The vermilion blood, of a tired afternoon.
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Her face, encased in ice, Winter has made a fine print, Love has been replaced, With a tear. Beauty has been replaced, With a sculpture of ice, And I still draw it close for a kiss.
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