Song to Aioue

Listen to my words and desire me, most fair and ruddy lady
I will be as magniloquent and indiscreet
as a biblical poet concerning you

The sculpting of your ancestral Siamese contour
pours like the sound of apricot brandy into my Bohemian chalice
It is a balm for my thirsting eyes, succoring my sacral mind
and satisfying me deeper than mere friction

Aphrodite has kissed your firmly ripened twins
They are from the vineyards of Glen-Eden
still unharvested on a sun-drenched September afternoon

Secretory perfumes from your pubic stubble
and gardenias in your coarse swarthy locks
look at me from just behind the veil
I search for their scent with every sense engorged

When I make you moan and frown
you stare vertically with closed eyes
Then drunkenly mutter, “I cum”

When I breach your lips, north and south in unison, we create
a coupling of energy that gives birth to the child of incandescence
She has your eyes and when I look into them
I see the light of Aioua

Her aura is primal, fleeting and beyond intoxication
We become one flesh in the eyes of the cosmos
I see you my love, my friend!

SELAH

These words are meant for whose who are brooding for loves
for they come nigh unto reality

They who dwell with heaven beneath their feet
live under the shade of authenticity
Walk with me again under the cloak of shadows

CHAIYYA

At this moment your honeyed cream remains on my whetted palate
When I showed you how we french kiss, yes those are the moments!

I would have three more beloveds if they were like you
Each as beloved as if they were only you
Other alphas would rue the land where our family resides
and handmaidens would disdain my words

When we are not together I wax
For me the duplicity is hard but I cannot live without pleasures!

Bedeviled nectars are not devilish, but imbibed in the shade
Nay, they are turned rancid only by the manufactured light
that casts the shadow from our cloak
Therefore, no man shall judge our chamberings

I savor the darkness, as per the design of the ancients
who learned to talk and to invent pleasures
They are familial ghosts from a region in my belly
and we commune

The inclinations I have toward paramours has been buried
so deeply that I cannot locate the region from where they come

In the balance between propriety and abandon
I have chosen what is in front of me.
I will be reminded again of my choices
when we commune again

My genteel and beautiful little doxie
I cannot nor would not sponge away
the scent of your existence from my mind
nor the music of your moans from my ears

I don’t know if I love you because I hate that word
Maybe someday I’ll invent a better one