She sits before me, an infallible piece
A masterwork of bone, sinew, and skin
Defying perfection her fairest cheeks and feminine chin
Her form crafted and carved as a statue of ancient Greece
...
Your lips are the wet of my blood. Without them I bleed dust
Your voice, the rhythm of my heart. Without it my ventricles lay in silence
Your touch, the nerves of my fingertips. Without it I cannot feel
Your embrace, the light at my center. Without it I see only blackness
...
Her vassalage henceforth I am condemned
A saintly visage adorned both sweetly
Coated twice on gilded vines stemmed
Great her presence filmed and veil’d completely
...
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...