Possessing a Huntress' Grit
In nightshade she rages in fumes
And drives me to the edge of unrest
Inside coal eyes, my breath exhumed
Granting her to stew, I feel pressed.
Dark tresses of fire keeps burning
A passion that ignites a whirl...
This vixen’s scold reeks like a sting
But truth of her words were sincere.
Enticed, I drink the spiced potion
That bathes deep down inside of me;
Possessing a huntress’ grit, she drones
As my pride she melts, heavenly.
My woman is both river and sleet
Her quarter moon flushed with grace;
Eclipsing my will, my defeat
To accept a female's bold ways!
Dr. Ram Mehta's Husbands Are In Heaven.. Contest
by nette onclaud
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