10-22-2014, 09:38 PM
Virginea's soul is crammed in to her eyes;
a woman-child not born until tomorrow.
She cries for all the things she is denied
and like a babe she mouths and sucks and swallows
everything that’s proffered in love’s name.
Her lust is for the new and for the wild;
the craziness of searching for the same
but hoping that by playing the defiled,
the odds will favour her in this long game.
Hear how she moans and how she wails her joy;
a different cry for lovers with no names.
They leave her like an easter Christmas toy,
as I will, too, without remorse or sorrow;
she's mine today...she's anyone’s tomorrow.
tectak '65 then 2014
By popular request. Oh shit, I almost wroted a sonnet
a woman-child not born until tomorrow.
She cries for all the things she is denied
and like a babe she mouths and sucks and swallows
everything that’s proffered in love’s name.
Her lust is for the new and for the wild;
the craziness of searching for the same
but hoping that by playing the defiled,
the odds will favour her in this long game.
Hear how she moans and how she wails her joy;
a different cry for lovers with no names.
They leave her like an easter Christmas toy,
as I will, too, without remorse or sorrow;
she's mine today...she's anyone’s tomorrow.
tectak '65 then 2014
By popular request. Oh shit, I almost wroted a sonnet