A terrible poem
Standing on the sholes of the lake, I stand in stunned awe at a creature. A being carved from the very marble of David; marble skin drawn by Rembrandt, and in your soft brown eyes I see something bewildering and beautiful, to get lost in the empyrean itself. You stand apart from the emerald greens and clouded skies, statuesque and imperious in your gaze, like a sculpture from antiquity.
We stay up late, talking about our lust-filled desires for one another, grasping at any opportunity to devour each-other. The softness of your porcelain thighs graces my mind amidst the strewn about sheets where you would lay. Tantric and exhausting nights spent, gripped by the duality of the afterglow.
Our contract defines our moral ground, a permanent divide between two hearts. Even still I would change nothing. Above your figure, your heart stands highest. In troubled times it is your words that have raptured a foolish mind, your words that break through the scars of a well aged heart.
Oh figure of perfect marble, love who you will love, and hold onto them well. For if I have stummbled clumsly into the paradise of your arms, I have found myself wanting little more.
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