The rumor—
Gossip's timely cadence
moves in sync to the
iniquitous manner of
my disposition.
It seems that my
personal manner has
become fodder of free
conversation and my
habitual tendencies are
now public domain.
But, I hold little
value for these
renderings considering
they do contain a
tinge of fact because
when night drops its
dusk, I'm compelled to
your side and I dwell
covertly about you
reclining on your
bed of stone and when
I touch the cold
alabaster of your skin
I think of how softly
warm you glowed once
but now my kisses lie
imprisoned on your lips
and suddenly I feel you
playing me to your whim,
dearest goddess,
lover of the night,
drink of me like wine
formed by your caprice
and let me linger,
darling Nyx, o'er the
gate to your world.
©2011 j.a.o.a.
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