Lacquered in quilled perversion, inked
on the edge of brunet, I stand statuesque,
placed for your eyes to stray leisurely,
staring into my black opals...
Follow my array of inhibition, my vanity
swallowing you up...
Your optic crawls to my speech, pursed,
breathing on my murmur...
Down you behold, to my pulse that flirts,
plays with your erection, how that pleases
me that your castle awaits me...
You descend to my bosom bowing down to you,
peaking, cresting on your ghostly tears.
Lines are drawn on the umbilical wink,
teasing you to look at the blush approaching...
You stroll to my private closet, where night
saunters, freely drinking candied waters, dripping
in silent agony.
On knees you slither, face to the floor,
watching the fallen mourning awake to your
trumpet, playing songs to my trinkets as
they flower, adorned on your glassed colors...