A pink bellflower dangling on her strap
shouldering pain, blue veins strangling
the seeds of desire it's Queen heart
conspiring for power and gain
befitting as the drones die caught
in the hem of her gold and emerald attire.
Mon Amant De La Mer,
Your days are martyred in my trust
singing my glories to the wind and sea
and the cold creatures that lurk below
the smooth fluid crust do they also share
in your world, in our wilderness of lust?
In your folly what have you decreed
as the months and years advance
and with what treasures will you court
your queen in the turbulence of your act?
And what great victory shall you stage
behind the curtain of carnal pleasure
with incessant ship wrecks and delays
I still await you as you loiter at your ease.
Loquacious