There are fewer things in this world that can properly be  
fewer still, that manage to leave their mark upon– 
that being said; let me begin  
by stating that I am but a mere woman besotted,  
a rosebud, delicate and dark that blossoms  
despite the storms raging,  
what can I say, I am giving you a glimpse of what 
it’s like inside my mind. 

The art of seduction belongs to cosmos, is something 
that can only be borrowed,  
it’s an assortment of whispered words 
and violet fervor strain  
that drives one to truly capture what he has set out to, 
it’s difficult to elucidate  
the somewhat obscure intentions otherwise, 
after all, the aim here is to be irreplaceable.  

I care a lot more than circumstances allow me to, 
sifting through prussian blue  
manliness and charm 
while the poet in me saunters,  
it’s one thing to dupe and another to make  
sincerity known in the process, 
I’d rather he become lost inside bowl of lips  
than despise me  
for stripping him of feeling,  
there isn’t a high quite like being understood.  

At this point, to back away would be as  
decaying of sonnets,  
let me finish by adding that it’s incumbent  
to steal breath away  
so that the other softens with rain, 
the art of seduction is hardly possible without 
serenading the intellect 
and lending thoughts a hue to melt into, 
for now, I shall take my leave, and 
you, dear reader, are free to form your opinion.  
He’s one of my favorites.  





Photo credits: Pinterest 

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