Eyes, deep calling me, using music not heard by man since times creation. A primal symphony of wants and needs, and beauty of ages past, but never forgotten.
She, in glorious splendor walks on earth that neither gives her regard, yet offers her bounty. She, of the stuff of queens and empresses, countesses and contessas, graces the sky with her form. The air around her delights at the touch of her skin, and dances in her hair.
Men, some kind, some craven, bark and bellow for her affections, prance and preen to be the ones seen before her, in hopes that, luscious lips and and soft sweet embraces, be their nights treasure.
But in light, she is the luminescence, dispelling all darkness, creating a king from common stock, to walk the earth in strides not of men with feet of clay, but with gold and bronze footfalls, that echo her hand, and her words, and her caring caress.
For she, born screaming, lives laughing, and lays down... singing.
The smell of deep purple
6 years ago
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