Best Chatoyant Poems

She shed her clothes; fur and silk first
Petrichor lingered in her hair
Seraglio was the holy-grail
For most women of the enlightened age.
Not for her; Chatoyant lady with her lithe body
Was a warier of her country.
She was here to collect dirt on Sultan Milas
The Holy Mattoto King.
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My moods they change, ever change, 
Light filtered via teardrop spheres; 
Clear and bright, grey and grim, 
And with their shift, their list and drift, 
Comes the bruiser's punch of reclusive fears.

Of me they see whatever there might be, 
Surface skin on a frame of...

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