In verse she comes with words and acumen

As her illustrious tongue lashes like an artisan’s hand

A language so cunning it lunges with canorous precision

Suddenly…I discover her needs match my own!

Lighting desire’s match

Pushing my will, like light drives darkness

And that of others to her own

A gift without being given!

Such is the power of her allure

A temptress without design or enterprise

Alas, such carnality without bosom

A leader and guide who just simply is! A Cordelia of times lost

With whim as stout as none I have ever encountered

And inconceivably weighted not by the lead of malice

Oh, her engaging vision is so tendered

How could her secrets not be chaliced?

Then a glare of truth I taste, for a spell caster is who she is.

As her voice weaves logic from universe’s maelstrom

A fabric so libidinous and slender no one can resist

They are whispers, which loam my heart and drive my spirit cantor

And so in her discourse she is the Lady of the alated. Blinding those beneath her

She the siren whose verse is tender, sensual and terse

Her lying knave words drink thy soul, tease and heave it alienated

Grasping then as poorer men her sneering game, her feeding fame

Thus wait! Let this second stop. Let it linger

Weight this speech. Let it cinder

Let me awake. Read per verse

Let not her words my mind hinder

As scenery and reciprocity are her feminine predilections

With words that repel all truth but her own

Along with Liaisons which make other’s will her fiction

I will not be a discarded pome. I will not be just another tome

I will not be consumed as means to her deliverance

Nor her mendacious self-serving piosity

Or sequestered and flown to far-fetched lands by her desire or callosity

Or under any per verse cloak of pleasure or proof of her feallan deity