Magnum Opus

My fair Lord of fine noble manor,

How thee so gravely appraise my structure

Like a staunch foreign Englishman his verses

Carved in ashen navy cleaves and dots

Whilst with invidious glowers thee discern

The most minute blemishes upon thy plunder

Bought virgin with silver vows of gold.

Naïve grins of praise foul thy senses

Though bestowed upon gentle white beasts

And the lazy peasant boy idly picking

The ripened fruits of blackberry winter;

Shall I have scorned his reddened offer

So that thou shall only receive honor?

Shall I bow unto thy sandals and weep

Glorious tribute to thy thousand-year-old-name,

Though I dare say it would be best it rot in

The forsaken crypts of thy forefathers

Who wasted to dust without the love I bare?

Hast my devotion not been bountiful enough

To quench the thirst of thy lust perverted

By the weed of vanity rooted deep in thy irises,

Blackening the discernment of flesh from stone

As thee mold my soul into thy divine Eve,

With lips pursed in dutiful admiration, and

Figure ripe for thy static bouts of pleasure?

Whilst thou hide my form beneath thy curtain,

Till naught but thine eyes may view the

Faint beam of my cheeks, or hearken unto the

Sultry tune of my voice beseeching thy ego

To stoop unto the lower step thee have perched

Me upon – like a songbird within orchid walls,

A creature bound to please its keeper lest it be

Allowed to whither into skeletal remnants?

And thee pass my inscribing hand without

A favorable nod, and I note within the rusting

Mirror the likeness of my flesh to the pastel

And oil thee so fervently caress and boast, my

Shoulders to the Aphrodite thee envision in dreams,

And my pulsating heart beckons thee to ne’er hide

Such a site behind thy curtain of delusion, lest

It be fully forsaken as naught but cold smears upon

A textured canvas caged unto thy suitable glimpses

Of a mind fattened by the feast of thyself.