beauty, love, masculinity, poetry, women

A day of battle

Trees like arterial maps,

Stark and cold,

Yet the beauty holds firm,

Bracing in spite of the call

To remain close

Against your butter soft skin,

But I draw my sword against the day,

Things to do,

With allies cheering me on,

Detractors staring whispers,

Which would slip between my ribs,

Were I a slower warrior,

A less able magician,

A clumsier and indiscriminate

Lover,

A weaker king,

Such elements might break me,

But the cold frames the

Beauty and to steal appreciation,

Like promethean fire,

Lends clarity,

And when I return,

If,

I will share such treasures,

Scatter coins onto the sheets,

Drape ropes of pearls

Around your neck,

Kisses lit like birthday candles,

Touches loud as fireworks,

But I cross the field of battle,

Brothers holler their joy

As I join them,

But I fight to days ending,

And the dancing light

Of your eyes,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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