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.
Passion
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.
S. Mooching
I only kissed her
To make her shush,
But I continued
Silence in no rush
To hear or to see
Her crimson blush.
We had communion
Past when we couldn’t breathe,
But we were at our loom
Learning to intricately weave.
An onlooker would’ve thought
Us a human wreathe;
If we’d separated forcefully
Our chests would heave.
Like this naught matteréd
Besides the pure elation,
Not even when we died
Of breathless suffocation.
Onward we kissed
Ignoring salvation,
Smooching blissfully
Eternity’s duration;
I’d no intentions of hearing
Her whining frustration.
Disembodied Clothes
Though we tasted of sweet pleasure,
And I thought you were a treasure,
Here now as we lie at leisure,
And I can feel your supple skin
Pressing against mine ‘neath the thin
Sheet where we now repose, within
Worries start to fill my mind
For the passion that we did find.
Oh, how I wish that I were blind!
Why must my conscience now employ
Its arcane arts meant to destroy
Our sensual, secular joy?
Why is it that she crosses my
Mind? In my secret freedom why
Should I worry if she will cry?
Didn’t she destroy all my bliss?
Isn’t her love like an abyss?
But my distress flees with a kiss,
And a gentle touch slays my woes.
My thoughtful foes now decompose
Among our disembodied clothes.
Hierodule
You surpass Venus de Milo
With your wealth of seductive charms.
You’re infinitely more gorgeous,
After all, you do have both arms.
But that is not the only way
Your form exceeds Aphrodite
Of Milos’s sculpted glory
Wearing neither slip nor nightie.
There’s a fury and a passion
And a heat which you give our love,
Burning quickly as heart pine does
In an old, black wood burning stove.
This same heat means that you won’t last
Forever like that cold statue,
For you are the fuel which you burn,
Which makes our love both strong and true.
Would I want you to be lifeless
And not consumed in a minute
Of passion? Nay, tis better than
An eternity without it.
Don’t envy the marble goddess
You excel in mortality,
Since you’re like her temple servants
In this service you give to me.
& Euphrates
And now, my Tigress strong and sweet,
Since you have me pinned beneath,
Pressing down on me with your feet,
Should I now my life bequeath?
But who’s the recipient of
The things left in my will?
Those things are useless without love;
You’re welcome to take your fill.
The softness of your striped fur
Tempts my heart mercilessly.
My neck’s goosefleshed by your low purr.
Now, what will you do with me?
You’ve hunted me for many days,
Your roars told me I’d be thine.
Will I suffer like other prey?
Do you long to hear me whine?
How will you look in hunger’s pith
As you dig in with your claws?
Be ferociously gentle with
Me, and playful with your paws.
Dizzying My Dreary Brains
You’ve no idea how my heart pounds;
Your presence my confidence confounds.
It’s taken me days to muster
The courage you nimbly fluster.
Seeing you makes the throbbing worse
Than it was when I did rehearse
The words I was going to say.
But now those words have slipped away.
I look into your eyes long and deep,
And my mind feels like it’s asleep.
Though silent, I know you can tell
What I want. You want it as well.
You take me by your hand inside,
Where I would gladly love to hide
With you far from this gaping world,
Since my vision has become swirled,
And the excitement in my veins
Is dizzying my dreary brains.
Midnight Musings from Melancholy Muses 