My faith blindfolded, Credence camouflaged, From this ardent love, And fiery passion, I have deep down for you. Walking the tightrope, To a blissful Utopia, I leave dubious speculation, Behind my shoulders. Like a withered flower, On a porous rock. Spirited procreation awaits, Spawn of a fervid twin flame. Underneath satin clouds, Among resplendent trees, Where sunsets are a myth. Love will flourish, As the eternal blaze, Continuously burns. The tightrope I shall walk, In my ebony aura, Guided by this, Immovable seedling, Fixated inside of me.
Cupid flew over my house last night,
That winged silhouette was you...
Your playful chuckle echoed in,
The dead of night.
Like a golden wind chime.
My rattling window was no match,
For that glorious sound.
Discreet you were not,
Overflown with passionate thoughts.
'Neath the glacial stars.
I crave a touch that is tender...
A whirlwind of emotions,
A slave at their beckon call.
You mischievous maker!
It just had to be you.
Who else owns a potent,
(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2021.