Like a petal in the ambergris she holds the light blush of beauty eternally. With nothing but her youthful heart She rivals the heavens, Disarming the gods With a distracted sigh.

Paris in the fall is like casual sex with a strange guest, Evening shadows that veil a city in secrecy and make demons of us all. The trellised curves of her inner thigh, Lissom wrists that tangle: soft clenched palms lost amongst falling sheets. I perched naked astride the sill Wounded and apathetic, A last cigarette hanging from my mouth, Breath fraught with wine, She calls from the bedside. Like something from a dream: Thick blonde hair, deep blue eyes, soft white skin, a capricious smile. I’ve always strode inches from the void, I fall upon her once more May Aidoneus have me.

She’s forming an opus in her heart: A fragment, a whisper Which burgeons and blooms. Eyes heavy with blossoms that melt from her lips, Honied thoughts that cling to her breath. Beneathe her flesh lies a vision of worlds, Of trellised troves untainted by hands Of hot-hearted Poets so unfit to touch.