Shackled to trance,

Bred by the aura of your lips

and the soft rattle of your hips,

a brimming affliction

suffocates me.

Like Michelangelo's best,

I only wish to chisel

craters of ecstasy

across your ivory hide

so that spots of youthful

love may shine through

the dull furs of old age.

Like an intangible grove

just beyond my reach,

impregnable to my featherless fervor,

you plant yourself.

With a femenine pride

that excommunicates me ,unjustifiably,

from tasting the chastend

flavors of your venereal love

and the riches of your subjective beauty.

Although the graces of your mutual passion

have religiously eluded my fate,

the winds of life fill my sails

with projected ambition;

Adhering to your distant silhoutte

will never be enough.

Becouse man is not made for defeat

and neither is my love.