Love Letters Written To A Lady Of Renown (1-5) Poem by Captain Cur

Hell bent on retracing paths to former glory 
enterprising adventures await my return. 
Lady, loquacious in your speech, my heart employs 
libelous methods. My feelings deign to deserve 
the approbation of your smile, a discreet glance,  
attentions that hasten my date with the gallows. 
Erstwhile in your embrace you are my deadly dance.
Shall I escort you to the Queen's ball on the morrow?  
Relinquishing to you my love, my life, perchance!  

Sentinels of pleasure stand guard on walls 
that are breached with a singular salvo
from your lips, Lady of loquacious speech.
In your arms each minute, each second falls.
I am struck by your beauty with each blow
powder from your guns burn through my senses
winds toward your direction steady turn
passion has dissuaded all defenses.

Desirous of a brief interlude 
formidable forces mount on my ship,  
for the lingering taste of your lips I sue 
this poor depraved world for a parting kiss. 
Since last we met, I have been commissioned 
to waylay a sovereign merchant fleet,  
terms of which clearly state, at my own risk. 
I would suspect politically contrived.
Dear Lady, loquacious in your speech,  
for the glory and pleasure of your eyes 
my battles rage and though my days be few 
may uncertain currents return me to you.

Masques of war, painted stripes of savagery 
regardless of one's rank or expertize 
these are the fertile fields in which I till 
in trades in which I barter what I kill. 
Dear Lady, loquacious in your speech,  
all must know it is you to whom I speak 
how insufferable will be my prize 
if I am not the glory in your eyes.

Vengeful labors bequeath their stain on me
that cannot be removed by acrid lye
should my soul be purified by the sea
entombed within her bosom I shall die.
Fitful Lady, loquacious in your speech,  
your woman's flesh entices me in sleep 
each day I rise to reap a newer dawn
and celebrate your beauty in my song.
Behind gold draped windows and marquee doors
there you stand like an art piece of decor,  
though you dress his arm in the godly light
am I not the devil you dream at night.