Legion of Mercenaries

As if humility were a legion of mercenaries Descending rapidly over me as a scent of a lascivious woman In my mind religiosity is a token given in your smile The smile that often questions The final indicia that separates wanting from needing, Desirous from convenient, Above all it creates an infinite duality That emanates the giving within feeling And feeling within willing. The skin of the skinned is a testament Given by the privilege held in a hand of a Naiad Just like in the words of a ballade Where the bell of a modestly erected cathedral Boosts masculinity as the outcome of an affection That cannot be beaten out of me By purity of a random intention Or by physical craving for joy, but By a vestal attraction of oneness with me When the emptiness of life is covered in a sandstorm Of an endless, Poe like, dream within a dream. Forget sitting in a corner of a bohemian pub, Until the bottom of a bottle or a life is indicatively seen, Or forget shuffling a stack of cards in a maverick style To perform the stock standard tricks for chicks, Rather inhale concord of an early morning When the femininity is awaken, all seeing When a dream becomes an axiom of love and in it my being.