You live in between the brushstrokes of violet and violence.
I may attract fleets of suitors,
Flirt with the premise of adultery and desire,
Yet, I only long for your lecherous gaze.
With your strong jaw, broad shoulders, and Roman expressions,
I yearn to trace the ink etched into your ambrosia-laced skin.
With your hair cascading into perfect vines with a sheen of gold,
Your eyes, almost draconian in nature,
Your massive stature that Olympians envy,
I wonder how our limbs would intertwine.
I envision the hotness of your breath and your face eclipsing mine,
Your perfectly carved muscles around my porcelain waist.
I can't shake the smugness of your voice,
Though I do toy with your fragile sense of ownership.
I could never tame you, contain you, or sustain you.
Yet, your blood boils into pomegranate molasses when my attention is diverted.
Your power once so eternal, becomes the size of a mustard seed.
I may be distracted by the subtle attempts to gain my affection by those more willing to divulge it,
Yet I long for your jealousy and temperament.
Despite these tragic beginnings and endings,
I yearn for your ruin.
YOU ARE READING
An Ode to Muses to Polyhymnia
PoetryThis poetry collection explores loneliness, theology, Biblical characters, depression, heartbreak, and disappointment. It's a good read for someone going through a bad time, but surprisingly hopeful.
