Howbeit she hangs
and harangues harangues
Her battlements shine destruction.
Her thunder-tongue suction shakes
Decadent pangs of the abbot sum,
And its gnarly bosom pinpricks my rule of thumb:
“Serve the haves and have-nots
Of eating barley cakes,”
For which the mendicant muses are mum.
In the land of plentiful, copious juices,
Vaunt oracular giddy-rabble excuses.
Cask, milk, honey, a tinkling lullawe,
Holiday colors of blood and money
Suck soulfire through a straw.
Relaxed, luscious, delicious streets
Memory lane paved with pastry sweets
Flower petals, garlands, perfumes galore
Each step I take to increase her store.
Chest-clutch, shoulder shrug,
Mend neglected, peasant love, whilst
Poison pickers chug on their choice
Of libation lees or trub.
She smolders ballast-revelers and bliss-followers,
Across and atop detached ivory towers.
But then her face, her secret bower,
That chastely grove compels my cower.
A willing hand and lenient thigh,
A precious sigh and primal scream,
She’d like to die above a moonbeam.
Silver leavings in their resplendence, lead thee to thy grave,
And cradles a frost to come dependent, a frost she finds to save.
How I espy her air castle in the sky,
Floating clouds six ways with wonder born,
Heavenly heaps raised hoarfrost gates of horn,
as clear as clear
as flowers in the corn.
Scale treacly poles for glutinous gain,
Relief, relief, but a moment’s more,
Prithee no mention of pain.
Stairs of sand smote on foundations earth-torn,
Luridities and cheese deluge the nunnery’s night-soil,
O the swift and the slow toil on in mortal vain
So winnowing leaves scatter words minced in strain.
From the serene sky to the center repose,
No fellow in the firmament evokes her echo,
The risible gossip of God - a sonorous guest,
Wrapped in a gown for sickness and show.
No portal of the palace hath sewn her petticoat
Drawn ambiguous breath from fear of death
That lives on coin-flips, lion lips,
And the afterbirth from human hips.
That beauty kills me as she shines and reclines,
Clothed in space spell-bound at start
And at end dancing on my knotted heart.
Gilded ornaments, lime excrements,
And good-bye hints linger on native weets
Throwns sceptered side-by-side thy noble nosebleed seats.
Her musk grown mild, this succubus husk,
as clear as clear
as indeed it must
Ascend the rosy light of dawn, exhume the castled sky!
Alas the luck, alas the cheers, those foolish years slip by,
A seraglio of sin, the dismal asylum wherein we lie,
as clear as clear,
as a smile through dusk,
a smile through her tears.
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