I fancy you’re something of an olive,
And, though those branches mayst be by a dove
Bourne, there is none superior to thee
And none higher, though thou be from a tree.
Much of that color is your complexion
Naturally, with tanning’s neglection.
Voluptuous, you’re nicely pump and round,
Though not as most portly fellows I’ve found.
You’ve no need of envy; should you be green,
It’s only because there’s much you’ve not seen.
It’s well you’re not black; it’s such a sweet taste.
Green bitterness prevents meaningless haste.
You must be unpitted [you have a heart.]
An onion you’d be, knew I where to start.
Love
To Differ
For me to feel not as the others do
Would require me to fall in love with you,
For I doubt that this emotion any
Mortal for you possesses. Not many
Humanoids [they’re devoid of a heart] attain
This fickle passion, but, instead, refrain
And partake of the constancy of Lust,
Which needs not a name, commitment, or trust.
Though some men would like in lesser degrees,
It’s not countable as love when from these,
Since love’s unconditional and complete
Surrender. None love you, for some like heat;
Your frigid love would be warm like the burn
Of ice too long grasped only, I discern.
Tripping Up
Up am I tripping and in love falling
With thy angelic frustration. Of course,
Thou dost know that, though thine hair is sprawling
Around thine shoulders, I do it by force—
Which easily categorizes thee.
Gladly upon myself do I impose
The vain desire to suffer your love’s throes;
I’m no idiot to wish to be free.
After all, it is the proper manner
To fall for love, as autumn is the best,
And winter pains loving with death’s behest.
One canst not purchase beads from a tanner.
I’m wont for casual, chilled affection
After summer’s heated misdirections.
Ashore
Albeit, I know you could never sin,
Since perfection comes without from within.
It touches ev’ry aspect of your form—
The round eyes your golden face does adorn,
Thy blemishless skin ‘neath which you take dorm,
Your ears, and how your hair is shorn.
To gaze upon your form does me distress;
Even reverent glances must transgress.
What a radiant goddess graces earth!
How you have mortal men much affrighted!
We scurry lest defects should be sighted,
Which’d afterwards make us e’er curse birth.
Prithee, what is it like within your core,
Since countenance’s where weak wash ashore?
To You
Sit I melancholy here all alone
In a depressed, apathetic mind zone.
Sadly, I have nothing better to do
Than to be insignificant to you.
When I think of earth’s each twisted wonder
That cannot help but easily depress,
Think I of ye with such unmatched success
To convince me it is only blunder.
Neither insp’ration nor jubilation
Art thou, but perhaps an condemnation
To those emotions of mine well-beloved.
Nevertheless, will I have anon shoved
Your resemblance into verbosity
Or some other tripe that purges glee.
Vegetable Love
My love is a vegetable love
Incapacitating my thought
When you draw near.
My love is a vegetable love
I forget this world
When you are here
My love is a vegetable love
I have no worries when
You whisper in my ear
My love is a vegetable love
You are my life support,
My Darling Dear.
Cold Sins
Woman, I love thee but
Not thy hypothermic toes;
Strike me not with them
Till their warmth grows.
With you I am intact;
Apart a mangled wreck.
Oft’ I wonder which state is best with
Thy chilled fingers placed upon my neck.
Kiss me on my scratchy chin;
Envelope me in your limbs.
But only after they confess
And make penance for their cold sins.
Digestive Processes
There is no contempt in mine
Action to on you spit.
I only wish to consume thine
Skin, savour, and digest it.
I long to masticate on
Your sarcus, bones, and soul;
Transform you into a bolus;
And swallow you down whole.
Inside me will be your love,
Your essence, and your spirit.
I’ll save you from stomach juices.
Peristalsis, do not fear it.
You could help me grow;
Use my cells as a dorm.
You’d be stronger than ever
In your concentrated form.
Elf
Thou art mine elf,
Thou magical vixen.
Upon my devious heart,
Magic thou art fixing.
Earth-coloréd strands
Of worldly beauty
Fall their length, ’tis
Their enchanting duty.
Thy starry-eyed orbs
Laugh at the night,
Sparkling to my heart
A much brighter light.
Thou must be a creature
That was of magic made,
For magical is thy call
To my heart that won’t fade.
If weak thou becomest
When parted from thy tree,
How much weaker am I
When closer to thee?
Urea
Urine is like my love
For you—relatively pure.
It may have some contaminants,
But their numbers are few.
I try to hold it in,
But my love for you doth flow
Like words from a poet’s pen
When the muses have inspired.
When for a while it’s been unrelieved,
It refuses to stop.
It eventually starts overflowing,
Presenting some need for a mop.
Midnight Musings from Melancholy Muses 