"Beauty" - A Fat Princess Love Poem
by Bra1n1ac
What is beauty; some have asked. What color or what hue?
What pleases all aesthetics? I knew not, but now I do.
For every sort of beauty can be seen to live in you.
Your hair is like a waterfall of bright and liquid gold,
your eyes are pools of eagerness; brilliant, clear and bold,
seeking more, and pleading for another treat untold.
The pink and pretty dress you wear; a fortune on your frame.
You royal station shows in both your crown and in your name,
and in the lovely bearing, which puts other girls to shame.
Midieval times have made your soul as sweet as sugarcane.
While other ladies strive for grace of movement that is plain,
you top them, sitting on your throne, with every ounce you gain.
A smile ever evident, your whole face taking part.
In your hand, a sweet cake, newly picked, like berry tart,
is soon to disappear amidst the pounding of my heart.
Your fluffy face, a treat, which welcomes every gentle touch,
your arms and legs like cushions, tempting my passionate clutch,
as large around as trunks of trees. I merit not so much!
Within your majestic figure, I could lose myself for days,
and never reach the end of you, or tire of your gaze.
I yearn to seize your tummy, as you set my heart ablaze.
Still, I know that my poor arms, though strong and quite immense,
never could encompass such a grand magnificence.
No other mortal's beauty is so shockingly intense!
Yet, I am no royalty. How dare I dream you might say yes?
How could I ever deserve so great and grand a princess?
How could I, a lowly one, live in your world of such excess?
Oh, princess fair and princess wide, send your guards to some small task.
Let me show you how I feel. Let me, at last, remove my mask.
Always, I will honor you, if in your beauty I might bask.
Let me in, past your stone walls, remove all your alarms.
Let me pick a dozen cakes, and spend one evening in your arms.
What is beauty; some have asked. It lies within your lovely charms.
As you embrace me to yourself, I fight to keep awake for thee.
A losing battle when faced with such soft, fantastic royalty.
No one am I, to ask for this; to dream of having your heart's key.
Author's Note: I'm not kidding.