She was the rose, which my heart sought,
Seductive yet forbidden as fruit in the Garden of Eden.
Futile attempts for angelic nibbles of her waist,
Along with immortal compliments and skittish giggles
Dictate my swan song will unveil my passion.
Threads of her auburn hair dangle hopelessly close to me.
So thirsty, I stretch out my palm inevitably
Falling short of a beauty which
Is scented with a gorgeously sweet essence.
Her picturesque and down-hearted eyes
Give an innocence to the girl in the tattered bride's dress
Who longs for more than to be tainted by lust.
Passionately peaceful under sheets of tartan and lace
Cast a radiance off a numbed, yet refined, immortality.
The delectable skin the hue of a powdered ashy moon
Is pleasing as silk but more exquisite with
Just a tinge of blush over the features of a curvy cloud nine.
Erected up, she is a peony that leaps and sways
To fanciful music made by the tapping of tartan sandals.
From her hips thin lace flutters and feathers slap.
Her porcelain physique, of a celestial cherub,
Casts imagery of dainty yet firm chrysanthemums
Standing against unpredictable horrors and green fire
In hopes to find an aura of peace in an embrace.
Certain animosity between humans and demons
Wears thin while words of subtle earth-toned peace
Seep through the delicate petals of dark indigo lips.
A soul lost in the expansive void of adolescence
Is nurtured in the sacred rituals of faeries and maidens.
A reverence for exotic fashion on the shoulders of
Slim legged tom-boys and rainbow colored dreads
Lights up the glory and humbleness in autumn eyes.
Underneath the bloody sunrise the sultry, Gothic angel
Captains her being elusively from a hopefulness that lays
Willingly on a pinstriped sheet on top of my rhapsodic heart.
Well... in my current state of mind.