In finger concerned conceivèd me loove
And smoothèd starched crust to pearl’d orchid thighs
‘So fail’d not to make beastès of those eyes
Hunting good prey’r ‘round whom men long revoolve
May dew bring nigh blush, cour’zing proove rejoove
Shy idle peek, ‘til lips speak smarting sighs
Though quies’ I ‘main, ‘nough to induce cries
And verbage in tides, retrain me to moove
Yet there thee to lips mine e’er ‘yond à ‘proach
Skins règard to fuse; though ne’er ‘fuse of the shore
Lick of the sands and don white veil once more
Swirl in the cerul’, ‘til the silk peaks we broach
For again and again plunge we to the core
Through par’llels rove we, void of ‘sire to poach
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment