Chalk-white skin sprinkled with freckles. Dusted
Free of any moisture that might have marred
Your sacred iconography. Sugared
Breath must come from your chapped lips. I lusted
For a chance to earn from you a trusted
Place near your heart. Drenched efforts have dared
To bring my dank loins near yours. Have I fared
Well? Have my exertions readjusted
Your imperial gaze? I request audience
To pronounce my ambitions toward you:
To perch with you upon the arid throne.
My struggling means nothing, inconvenience
At best. Your dry eyes designate the true
Distance between us. I still stand alone.
No comments:
Post a Comment