In homage of my Mistress in White
I am beckoned
not brooking refusal
she bids me bring my instruments
laying across my desk
i cant hold out for long
she commands I lay my thoughts bear
my pen trembling with thoughts unexpressed
i shudder at the desecration she has in mind
poluting the white of her page
with things not so sacrosanct
she giggles at me
with a rustle from a sudden breeze
the empty page isn't that innocent
seducing me as she does
must count for something.
So I labor ardently
seeking to be worthy of the favor
the sacred and intimate art
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