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~~~ " Inamorata " ~~~
~ " Paramour " ~
An annular zenith of diurnal epoch was wont to break the caliginous dusk of a charcoaled night.
She had slept in thy dream whilst I awakened to her reality, videlicit, her suspension of consciousness in rumination gave way to thy pensivenesss of her contemplative, intrinsic, absolute.
Betwixt the corridor of fractured mirrors, Mona Lisa was sobbing, and Venus was sullen and green with envy in the aisled foyer of their demise, feeling ersatz, as the only woman in the room, promenaded through the thoroughfare, floating like gossamer, caressed by a soft breeze and venerated by rays of adolescent sunrise, that crept past a jalousie, and dared to bounce off a visage of cotton candy, which repercussed her elegance; love was blonde, and she owned every eye within a thousand yards; hypnotized by those ocular amulets of lang syne, anchoring commands of attention, her charismatic excellence had deputized every heartbeat, which had spoiled man and ruined hope for every other doe; Donatello discarded maul and chisel, and gave up; Raphael unequivocally snapped his timbered whiskers into two, borne from sheer frustration.
Veiled, inscrutable conundrum of locutions and edict, to delineate and proclaim her beauty, were locked up in vaulted athenaeum in the highest heavens, whence they were ensconced, bound by the arcane, wrapped in utmost secrecy and sealed by magic, nestled within mystery where henceforth, they abided; words which epitomized her singular apparentness had been reserved for this very moment, never before having been uttered by any breathing flesh.
Proxima Centauri flickered, as a simulacrum of coruscating flambeau alongside silhouetted aspects of her sacrosanct semblance; yea, even daytime itself, proved to be a mere phosphorous vesta next to her refulgent attendance.
As her smile sailed upon a virtual caique, every man’s name was changed to ‘desire‘ by her pregnant gaze; her consolatory enunciations tucked one in like a duck-down duvet, and the full iridescence of a shimmering, lunar enchantment affixed its ivory tail of parsonage cream and argent feathers to her bleached, pompom bob of Chardonnay froth, that escorted thy noble gentlewoman, everywhere…….wherever she disembarked, her aristocratic augustness sent waves of bliss throughout every yeoman she passed by; to be touched by this baroness was to be deeply blessed indeed. This ultimate phantasy administered the impetus to unhinge kings, and drive one insane with want, like saltwater to a thirsty reaver – she became the only need; the air, the water, the sustenance; she contained the very fire which drove a man to crave her only.
Her nom de guerre had been etched within thy DNA at conception; she was here…..now, the Princess had arrived, to lay claim to her conjubilant Thane.