epicus

I'm ready to be victim to love's sacred flames,
to show you the pastiche of lovemaking,
and the print of passion,
which heaven has willed to dower.
with that true fruit whence we live,
with that mirror of emotions that with rustic sensation is carried by a chariot drawn by fire.
where pathos lit a fire,
with heat enough to melt the coldest ice,
yet cannot warm your heart like the pleasure with vast dominion at my fingertips.
my love,I'll wait.
until we blossom into the abyss of purity.