Under a pile of bedsheets in July,
Are stains and spots that will not rinse-dry
As the rhythm of the rain beats steady
To wash the love daub into the eddy.
It tells storied nights of the paramours.
The first embraces of his overtures,
That touched to quench her burning fires.
She does embrace his yearning desires;
As he came and went as he pleases.
This life of hers now a delightful breeze;
Her cherished love must walk the live wire.
To whelp pure breeds and an empire to sire
She must save her delicate colors of daydreams;
To catch ecstatic clamor, laughter streams.
Yorumlar