Jeffery's True Mistress

There are two hands in the table
On the table are a dozen faces
Though each one's life is long
They are simply each without
A sleeping sigh, for it's not able
Not with so many different places

I find that when the hand is high
As the smiling sun is low
The dreamy states do but avoid me
On lazy streets, I'm calmly shaking
As the sidewalks grows like rye
I pass the lamplight as I go

Eyes observe me and my progress
Echo chatter from the floor
Nimbly speaking in an order
Such a social pair, those two
Shriek aloud at smoking sorcerers
Whipping wisecracks in a bore

Chilly room, this massive window
Up above, though you can't see,
Just like my mentioned before mistress:
I have two hands, though safely kept
From telling secrets from the skinglow
Hidden warm in trenches deep

I call the names of those I worship
Softly still, but to the bone
All of us, the social two
And shy as well, inside their trenches
Although I reign them in lordship
Mistress, she calls me her own

Mistress, tell me, with both hands
When your faces high will smile
With that warm and luscious greeting
My friends and I shall then depart
To carry out our darkly plans
To return after a short while







Poetry by weirdzarun
Read 487 times
Written on 2007-05-11 at 07:10

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