The brushed on mask is a metaphor she wore  
But she can't hide from my eyes anymore
Her elegant cape is merely a sylish cloak
As the artist within is naturally baroque
Magically she heals my wounded heart
With poetic spills pouring out of her art
Her power arose from a skill to impart
Salacious flows streaming from her amorous heart
She maintains a sky of excellence
Finishing first in each test of endurance
Rising to limitless humbling conquests
Running down all my intellectual protests
My caving resistance is effortlessly vanquished  
Ending the lonesome Infinity in which I had languished
Guilty I may be of profound hero worship
Victory comes when we become joined at the hips
Written by Poetryman
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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