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There upon the blasphemous 
grassy knoll, a maiden, 
her lovers' temptations
of the past.  
Amidst a silky
silhouette, a dainty stroll
flaunting a crimson masquerade.

"Your invitations of subtle romance,
be they adventurous, unfulfilled,
shall we not exchange vespers?" 

The angel Azriel passioned. . .
A soft Belial did exchange. . . .

"Perchance your suggestion faint,
a slight hint at curiosity?"
"Pray you Belial, mystery for the 
whimsy, my gentle romance."

The maiden's eyes began to twinkle
slightly, a hint of passion.
The fullness of her bosom
so exquisite and so
tame, she patted herself
on the thigh, exquisitely, softly.
She would listen to the 
rhythms of her heart and 
praise the moon. . . .

"Azriel your infinite 
sensuality is perplexing,
an embrace to the musers
of sophistication."
"Belial. . .  are you true?"
"Always, of the most 
royalties in shadow."

Belial's vehemence was like
a steady rhapsody-
a melody to the songs
and essences of the 
crying angels, his interests
in this courtship affair
piqued, unbeknownst,
foreboding.
A howling wolf nurtured
his wanton's decree.

"May there be no 
misgivings between
us.  Our romance a flounder,
this time upon a dreary
meadow, passions of the 
blooming Spring."
"The maturity of the 
season burgeoning as 
a goddess basking 
in the twilight."
"Belial, amidst your
presence, your magical
enthralls, I am
a virgin of chaotic
confines, an orchestrating
phatasmagoria, bellowing
echoes of innocence."
"Where'st upon your 
throne of pride, do 
you betake such ambience
and cunning?"
"Another courtship, another
attempt at fate,
falling away with thee,
embracing your sacred 
art of serpent 
masochism."

Her lips very supple,
very appealing, she
was a cupid to 
Belial's delight. . . .
The Dragon emulated 
its horrorific 
delight, 
the trees began to sway 
as howling winds
enveloped.  
A nightbird swooped, 
like a predatorial
owl, scornful wisdom,
a galliant interlude.
The moonlight shown 
through, revealing 
the shadows of 
a saga of melancholy
and the wicked
kingdom.  
The angels gently
opposed their own virtue.
Cascading glances of 
despair and burdening
lusts erupted within
Azriel and Belial. . . befallen.
The cries of passion
were softly felt, hence, 
a lovers' quartet of 
silent lucidity.  
A beseeching cry of lechery, 
portented gayly, 
Azriel gave way
to Belial's surmise.

"She will suffer. . ."
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