Feed me, fill me, give me solely one chance,
To bear the fruit of your romance.
I yearn, plead, beg you, my modest master,
Abandon senses, you woman of Aster.
Let me grow for him, plump, firm, full.
What strapping hands, a virile bull.
Assuage me, let me hold his successor,
If you don’t, I’ll make you lesser.
Starved, unused, my tender work discarded,
Prepare for wrath, fully guarded,
Raving red releases, run for his succor,
His distaste clear, though he’s the chucker.
Agony’s all you deserve,
If you had the sense to reserve,
That morsel of modesty, though I begged.
Now find your lining thoroughly unegged.
Is the war over, peace triumphs sanguine,
That last letter, left him hangin’,
Write again, ask him to visit, promise
This time to dusken the lights of phlomis.
Give him this void, offer me whole,
Eager, ready, an open bowl.
Sacrifice him to me, placate my wrath,
If I don’t get him, you face bloodbath.
I regret that we weren’t in the same pod during our Creative Writing class, but I am so happy that I was able to read something of yours nonetheless. I love your voice and the pacing, and the overall message resonates enough that I read this a few times instead of just once.
“That morsel of modesty, though I begged.
Now find your lining thoroughly unegged.”
Absolutely wonderful, what you do with language!