You're very beautiful in appearance:
And, for want of such pure, cream-soft flesh,
(A velvet which roses shall ne'er possess)'
E'en Venus, queen of beauty, is jealous.
Shimmers moist, thine wet... O, deep, dream-brown eyes
smiling:"I know you can see right through me!"
Though, my heart, aflame, aches and burn with desire,
'pon thy alter sacrificed, as a fire
Scortching, gracious, duest torrid, so devour
Psyche's mortal embers...lost;Mine soul's yours
Already. And, devastated too. damned!
Yeah, sithen withen my breast throb'd hot blood,
Bleeding cold now... And pouring forth, like smoke,
from tha' bitter wound your lusty charms smote,