Goddess of Passion
A flash of red,
a wavy flame.
Not the destructive,
manipulative fire of man,
but rather,
the soft, vibrant tresses
of a goddess.
A private goddess of passion and power.
She is the key to our hopes and dreams.
This woman has only one worshiper,
one devout patron.
She entices me with her milky white skin,
her rich voice.
Her laughter like a choir's song.
At her alter, I lay
food offerings and flowers.
The same flowers that remind me
of her beauty and strength.
Though it a shame,
I want to keep her likeness
to myself.
Let no other man lay eyes on her,
for fear they snatch her away,
her image their own goddess.
Then again,
I can never wish for my goddess to have me.
She is everything above me,
of a powerful breed
and I am nothing more than human.
For now,
I satisfy myself by looking into
her fascinating eyes,
which bewitch me ever so
and try as hard as I can
to make her laugh.
Whatever makes her happy
makes me the same.
In the day, she is the sun,
but come Midnight,
she is the milky moonlight that shines on me.
Infiltrating my dreams,
the temptress to my soul.
She hovers oh so close, teasing,
chuckling at my hesitance.
Doing so, she sends her sweet breath
washing over me,
giving my skin tickling prickles of pleasure.
Oh, Lady Hope,
you are a goddess that will not fade with
the sands of time.
I will always be on my knees,
ready for your word,
waiting for your caress.
