Far-Song Woman {w ~ HowlingWhelms}

   
   
hers is the darkling rose, unpicked,    
in a tropical, cloistered garden;    
hers are the thorns that guard her sceptered heart,    
reclusive, denied to the savage crave of barbarous thieves.    
   
I interlope upon her loft without armor,    
soldier of sad fortune, trooper of storms.    
her beauty, too glorious for my eyes to hold;    
her loving, more than my rogue heart might endure.    
   
what gifts have I to dowry her chiffonier;    
beggar in rags, who brings bitter kisses, a melody of tears,    
journey of parched days and rain-kindled nights.    
Far-Song Woman, surrender, and the stars will fall.    
   
   
   
You speak ..as if a dare not to exist, then where am I in your wilderness?  for you hear the songs of melancholy, fury, longings & passions,  perhaps attuned to the plucking of myself away from many    
   
but it is often when roaming a munster’s lovely plains, where I find myself staring & searching for the opening thru which I came,    
   
only to realize I've been touching faces of you between the breathing cadences, as my lips hovers over yours anxiously unravelling    
   
so here I await  thus fasting with no apologies nor judgment to partake in such embodiment.. an exclusive instrumental composed in undiscovered heavens & hells made for reckoning    
   
so for once my cherished..  the stars must fall unto the ways of our beautifully resting masks while we mount each other's painful thorns .    
   
come ..come  & shed your rags, lay your head upon my stomach along with the stored bitter kisses..may your soft-eyed sorrows fill my navel ..their melody beneath my skin, ours alone let us savour